


Mating Games Challenge 6: Hungry Like the Wolf

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 73,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the entries for week six of the Mating Games pornathon challenge on LJ.</p><p>For details on what this challenge is: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/tag/admin%3Afaq">FAQ</a> on LJ</p><p>If you'd like to vote for any of these, you are welcome to even if you aren't a participant in this challenge. You can read how to vote and cast your votes here: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/12385.html">Voting Post!</a></p><p>In this challenge, teams are already set so we aren't taking any new writers/artists, but you are welcome to participate as a reader/voter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A: With Warnings and Pairings

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING -- Chapters 4 and 8 contain artwork that is not safe for work (NSFW).

**1**  
 **Pairings:** Scott/Allison/Stiles/Lydia  
 **Warning:** AU - Female Wolf Pack  
 **Inspired By:** "I always felt there were two kinds of people... wolves and sheep. Those who kill and those who get killed. And you, Huntsman, you are most certainly a wolf." – The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

It had taken weeks of mindless small talk, when all the girls wanted was the end result. Lips on lips, teeth on skin, the bites, the scratches... They needed the boys. They needed them to feel complete. The last of the Argent and Martin bloodlines... Two alphas can only co-exist for so long before they need something more.  
Lydia was the first to fuck Stiles. She purred as he entered her from behind, clumsily - the poor boy was obviously a virgin, but that was fine. The next was Allison with Scott. He'd taken a little longer, wanting to respect her, and in the end she dragged him to the janitors closet, stripped, and ended up riding up and down on his cock, her legs wrapped around his waist.  
Then came talk of a foursome.  
"Whenever you're ready, ladies." Smirked Stiles, watching the girls, who were both in their underwear. Lydia smiled flirtatiously, and wrapped her arms around Allison, who looked a little more hesitant.  
"Allison, look at me." Lydia whispered, "For the pack. We wanted to do this together, remember?" Allison swallowed, and nodded, and her fingertips trailed up Lydia's sides. Lydia moved in for the kiss, and Allison moaned into it, expertly unclipped the bra. Her eyes opened and she looked back over at the bed as she heard a groan - Scott already had his hand wrapped around his cock. Stiles was slower, his eyes still on Lydia.  
"Let me help." Allison said, her voice heavy with lust. Stripping , she lay on her stomach on the bed, and pulled Stiles' still limp dick from his boxers, and kissed the tip, before slipping it into her mouth. Her hand wrapped around Scott's cock, together jerking him off.

"Ready, big boy?" Lydia asked Stiles, and Allison sat up, removing the cock from her mouth. He nodded eagerly, and Lydia smiled. "Good pet." Stiles looked confused, and Lydia quickly pushed him down, and straddled his body, backwards, until her pussy was over his face. "Lick me, now please." He didn't react at first, and Lydia huffed - for a pretty face, he could sure be slow sometimes - and ground her pussy against his nose, until his tongue began moving. Relaxing against him, Lydia licked Stiles cock up and down, turning her head to look at her fellow alpha. "Sweetie, you taste good." 

"Get on top of me." Allison said, lying down, one hand idly reaching across to stroke Lydia's ass. Scott nodded, hardening as he heard the noises Lydia was making. Thankfully, as he pushed into Allison, he found that she was soaking wet anyway. His body was flush against hers, the only thing moving being their hips. She threw her head back and moaned animalistically, Scott pressing his lips to her neck to suck there. She was so close already, and feeling the tension in Lydia, she could tell she was as well. Now was the time to strike. Closer, closer....  
Just as Allison's orgasm hit, her nails extended into claws, and she ran them deep down Scott's back. She could feel the blood under the claws, and she held Scott, despite his screams. A cry came from beside her, and Allison watched the blood trickling down from Stiles' ass - Lydia had obviously chosen a rather unique place to claim her mate. In his panic, he bit down on Lydia's clit, drawing blood, and she pushed him away from her, eyes glowing angrily.

"You may be my mate, but you have NO right to hurt me!" She snapped, more from the indignation of the act and less from the injury, which was already healing. Stiles was writhing on the floor, and Lydia had to look away - the pain on his face was the part she hadn't been looking forward to.  
Scott's screaming slowed, but his back was still wet with the blood, and he arched it as he now lay on the bed, feeling something burning through his entire body.  
"What the hell! Did you drug us?!" He snapped, staring at Allison, and quickly she leant over him - her features softened, but her eyes glowing red.  
"Me and Lydia... we were lonely. We wanted mates, we wanted a pack. And as soon as we saw you... we wanted you. I needed you. Lydia needed Stiles. You're both very special to us. We belong to each other now... In body, mind, spirit... You're my beta, sweetheart, and I love you very, very much."

* * *

**2**  
 **Pairings:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Warning:** Dub-Con; Mating Cycles  
 **Inspired By:**

_“Last night you were... unhinged._  
You were like some desperate, howling demon.  
You frightened me. Do it again.” 

_~ Morticia Addams_

Stiles woke feeling loose limbed and warm. Sunlight filtered in through the gauze curtains and he felt good. _Really good_. It was nothing to slide his hand into his boxers, to start a gentle rhythm and sigh at the carefully rough friction of it.

The Hale house was in a constant state renovation and thanks to Stiles and Derek's not-entirely-consensual mystical marriage a few months back they were one pack. Creeperwolf had been ruthlessly, violently, “courted” by the crème de la crème of the lunarly challenged and needed saving.

Stiles breath caught and he wiggled his hips a little to help slide the material down his thighs.

It'd been a Hunter's Moon and Derek found himself in something of a rut. Literally. Thanks to a mix of instinct and ancient tradition a Hunt was held and Derek's first heat forcibly triggered by the machinations of the Alpha Pack. Candidates roamed the woods, fighting and sabotaging each other until Derek brought down the prey of his choice and mated them. Stiles throat clicked at the memory of how he'd looked. Wolfed out, naked, and utterly silent in the shadow of the treeline.

That image haunted him, made his dick twitch and dribble at the memory of it.

The memory of what they did.

Being prey was easy, was something Stiles knew how to work and use to his advantage. So he threw his ticket in, played suitor, and prayed Derek wouldn't slaughter him. Tradition stated the pack had the right to fuck up whoever Derek rejected right off the bat, one barbaric point in their favor. One they used to their full advantage as they systematically took down the competition with claw, metal, poison, and fire while Stiles played come-catch-me-stupid with their slavering Alpha. Until he'd finally been cornered and the only thing he'd had to save himself was the desire to win and presence of mind to plan for all possible outcomes. He hadn't planned on there being that much blood though, on screaming that loudly, or on being turned.

Not once that night had Derek been able to lose the fangs.

Stiles heart stuttered and raced at the sense memory of how they'd felt buried in his flesh when Derek finally mounted him. Had to grip the base of his cock because his instincts were forever fucked up now and he didn't want to come yet. He breathed and gently stroked at his slick length until his thighs were twitching and his heartbeat finally calmed to something that didn't resemble fear.

It was a lot like how Derek touched him now, has always touched him since that night. Slow, soft, tender, and utterly maddening. Some nights Stiles wanted to rip _his_ throat out, with his teeth. However he asked though Derek never quite took it there again, that place they first reached together, never seemed to understand and Stiles was too proud to beg for it. Their Alpha had sacrificed enough for them, he couldn't ask for more.

Derek wasn't home now though, the house was empty this morning actually. So Stiles felt safe enough to ask for it now, to beg like he wanted to with only his shaking body and their perfect, polite, pointless little marriage bed as witness. Thrust up into his hand and arched his back so hard it could break as he whined and thrashed and fucked himself on hastily lubed fingers.

_Please, please, please--!_

He was so far gone Stiles didn't realize, at first, that the brutally deep growl thrumming through the air wasn't his imagination. That Derek stood there, summoned by the sharp spike of aroused terror he gave off, and was _watching_ him rip into their sheets with his still new claws, panting for him.

When he did finally realize Stiles eyes grew wide and glowed in shock before he narrowed them, gave a bitter sort of snarl that Derek would once again ignore no doubt, would shush and soothe away until Stiles was tenderly taken apart and hating himself.

So when Derek answered with a thundering roar instead. Slammed the door shut, stalked to the bed in a terrifying burst of speed, and snagged the top of his boxers to rip them down and off like so much flimsy paper Stiles couldn't help but respond. His head fell back, fangs flashing, throat bared, and howled in something like triumph when Derek lifted him up by the hips and fucked him open.

* * *

**3**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** AU  
 **Inspired By:** _Van Helsing, 2004_  
Top Hat: I see the wolfman hasn't killed you yet.  
Van Helsing: Don't worry. He's getting to it.

 

The mirror in the tiny bathroom of the run-down apartment is covered in grime, almost brown with dirt. Stiles stares through it, at his eyes and his cheekbones, the scattering of moles near his ear and the hair he's let grow out these past few months. 

His hand drops to the silver Werewolf Capture Unit badge attached to his belt, opposite his gun, and he wonders how his life became this fucked up game of lies and sex and pretending to do his job.

"Can I borrow your bike?" he asks Scott when he comes out of the bathroom.

Scott looks up from the movie he's watching, eyes sharp and knowing, and his mouth thins unhappily. For a moment Stiles thinks he'll say no, but then he reaches for the keys on the coffee table and tosses them over.

"Be careful."

Stiles' answering smile is tight and wan. "Always."

*

They fuck half-dressed in Derek's Camaro, parked deep in the woods. Stiles rides him in the driver's seat, fingernails digging into the leather, slamming his hips down as Derek thrusts up to meet him, one hand on Stiles' dick.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Stiles breathes, the stretch of Derek's cock inside him so good he thinks he might cry.

Derek growls and raises his free hand to Stiles' hair, gripping tight and pulling him into a hard, messy kiss. His grip tightens around Stiles' dick, stripping him fast and rough, and Stiles _keens_ , coming in pulsing spurts all over Derek's shirt. Derek continues fucking him, panting harshly against Stiles' mouth, and when he comes he leans forward and bites down on Stiles' shoulder.

Afterwards, Stiles sprawls half naked in the passenger seat, ass leaking Derek's come all over it. He reaches for his discarded pants and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"You shouldn't smoke," Derek says. "You're human; it's stupid."

"This car is stupid." Stiles lights up, dragging in the acrid smoke and blowing it out in Derek's direction. "It's like you're asking for trouble."

Derek's smirk is slow and wicked, and a shiver of heat curls down Stiles' spine.

"Maybe I am."

*

Scott is still awake when Stiles gets back.

"I see the wolfman hasn't killed you yet," he says, catching his keys when Stiles tosses them.

Stiles snorts. "Don't worry. He's getting to it."

*

They get caught, ironically, by a pair of traditional hunters.

*

The ground is cold under Stiles' knees, dampness from the earlier rain seeping through his jeans. There's a gun pressed to his head, and his own weapon – filled with wolfsbane bullets – is pointed at Derek.

"You know," Stiles says conversationally, "taking down a werewolf without a badge and proof of danger to others is illegal."

"Almost as illegal as killing an officer of the law," Derek adds, just as casual, and Stiles grins at him.

Derek grins back, and Stiles can just barely see the way his teeth are sharper than usual and his eyes are growing red.

The hunter holding Stiles' gun against Derek's head sneers. "So is a werewolf and a WCU agent fucking each other up the ass."

"Don't worry," the one above Stiles says. "We'll give you a moment to say goodbye."

Stiles smirks. "Goodbye."

*

Derek rips them to pieces.

*

Stiles braces himself against a tree, head dropping between his shoulders. He stares down at his badge, still attached to the jeans that are now around his ankles, and the standard issue WCU gun on the ground between his feet.

Derek fucks into him from behind, claws sharp pinpricks against the skin on Stiles' hips. His teeth are blunt now, clamped tight on the back of Stiles' neck, forceful and possessive. Stiles shudders, his hard dick bobbing with every rough snap of Derek's hips, and tries to focus on the bite of the tree bark digging into his palms.

Derek growls, the vibrations shooting straight down Stiles' spine to his dick.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles swears, dick giving a painful throb. "Oh fuck, Derek."

Derek's cock is huge inside of him, stretching him open as he pushes as deep as possible, relentless and almost desperate. He doesn't release Stiles' neck, growls turning to whines and whimpers, and his pace goes fast and erratic. It's too much, and Stiles can't hold off any longer, letting go and shaking apart as he comes.

It lands on his badge, splatters over his gun, and Stiles closes his eyes as they fall together into oblivion.

* * *

**4**  
 **Pairings:** Scott/Isaac, past Scott/Allison  
 **Warning:** possible implied underage  
 **Inspired By:**  
Love is a poet, love sings the songs  
Pointing his finger you follow along  
Voices are calling, the monster wants out of you  
Paws you and claws you, you try not to fall  
\-- "The Beast", by Concrete Blonde

_The wolf and the human do not love the same way._

Scott aches when Allison breaks up with him (again). He watches her from across the room, soft, longing looks with his heart in his eyes. He makes plans to gain her attention (in a good way) and he whispers them to Isaac. Stiles is long past patience with this courtship, but Isaac is willing to listen as long as Scott’s talking, and Scott just needs someone to hear him and tell him he’s not being an idiot.

Tell him it’s going to work out.

Even when Scott slips into his daydream, remembering the slip and slide, thrust and moan of loving Allison, Isaac is patient. He listens to Scott’s murmurs about how Allison’s skin shimmers in the moonlight, and the taste of her on his tongue. Scott rambles about the salt and bitter and tang of her fluids and Isaac nods.

Scott _tries_ to court Allison again.

He buys her flowers: one rose for every week he has known her. He finds them in the trash outside her house.

He sends her a crossbow, specially commissioned for her and her alone. She fires a bolt into Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac forgives Scott. Allison does not.

Scott holds the cloth to Isaac’s wound, blood staining his fingers as he prays for the healing to begin. He meets Isaac’s eyes and nods once to the words unspoken.

His human side has to let Allison go.

 

_Wolves mate for life. Humans do not._

 

Scott lies in bed, despite Melissa’s attempts to convince him to come down for breakfast, despite Stiles stopping by. He keeps the lights off, the shades drawn. His wolf aches to run, but his humanity mourns the loss of love.

He catches the scent of Isaac, fleeting and quick, and the wolf wakes. He sits up before the door opens and light spills in from the hallway.

Isaac gives him a rueful smile, ignoring the way Scott’s eyes flash and a low growl starts. Instead, Isaac pulls the door shut behind him, settling the room back into darkness. He stalks across the room—Scott has no other word for that lanky grace as Isaac moves, suddenly right there before him, kneeling down and framing Scott’s face with his hands.

Scott’s wolf rumbles under his skin; his head tilts, pressing against Isaac’s hand.

“I can’t make you forget,” Isaac whispers. “But I can help.”

His lips are a whisper against Scott’s mouth, barely taking the kiss before he moves again and Scott is left wondering what that even was. Hands push against his chest, and Scott goes with the motion, lying back on the bed as Isaac nudges his shirt up, fingers skirting along the edge of Scott’s jeans. A soft growl, and Isaac _laughs_ , and Scott wonders what that means that Isaac can laugh when Scott’s wolf is awake and talking.

Then Isaac rubs his cheek against Scott’s groin, and Scott stops thinking at all.

Scott is entirely aware that it is _Isaac_ who carefully unzips his jeans, pushing them open. It is _Isaac_ who pushes his boxers out of the way and tugs his dick free. It is Isaac’s mouth and Isaac’s tongue that lazily lap at his length until Scott pushes his fist against his mouth to contain the howl that wants to break free.

Isaac laughs again and takes him in for just a moment, leaving his dick wet and slick with spit.

He jacks him then, quick rough tugs that rotate his fist around Scott’s dick, and Scott presses into that touch, thrusting as instinct takes over. Musk scents the room, and Scott’s wolf wants to howl again, hungry to taste it.

Scott reaches out, fists his hand in Isaac’s hair and drags him up to claim his mouth, inhale his scent. Tongues tangle as Scott delves deep, swallowing the small moan Isaac gives him while his hand twists again. Scott thrusts into those tight fingers, balls drawn up as he cries out, the sound muffled by Isaac’s tongue. His body jerks, twisting when he comes, spurting white stripes over both of them.

They fall back onto the bed together. Isaac smiles, half smirk and half shy.

Scott’s wolf snarls and Isaac bares his throat, submitting. Teeth close over the tender flesh of Isaac’s neck; Scott slides his hand inside Isaac’s jeans, finds his dick, and strokes.

He will never forget his human love, but he is wolf now.

 

_Let the wolf run free._

* * *

**5**  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** none  
 **Inspired By:** _"Once I saw him in the moonlight, when the bats were a flying  
I saw the werewolf, and the werewolf was crying" _ -Cat Power

Stiles sneaks out of his house when he's 11. 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, his heart beating wildly, and it's not like a panic attack. Not like the way his vision gets blurry and he can't breathe when he thinks about his mom being gone. This is more restless, like an itch under his skin, and a stone in his throat like he's going to cry.

The forest, dark and eerie, looming on the edge of his yard, calls to Stiles. And he goes.

There's a low mist clinging to the ground. The moon is full and it turns everything bright, except when the heavy clouds obscure it, and then everything is gray and purple hazed. There's an October chill that nips at Stiles' skin through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, but he doesn't feel it.

He's not afraid.

When he reaches a small clearing he stops, just on the edge. Goosebumps run down his spine, because whatever it was that brought him out into the dark, it's _here_.

The wolf is a shadow in the middle of the open space, defined by the absence of light more than anything. Its head is bowed low, its tail is tucked between powerful hind legs.

It snaps its head up when Stiles moves closer, but Stiles doesn't falter. He just walks forward, and it feels like a dream when his fingers sink into soft fur.

The wolf throws his head back and howls, low and mournful, then curls to the ground.Stiles follows, because the wolf is lonely. Like him.

He wakes up, curled in a ray of sunshine. Alone.

Afterwards, when Stiles is back at home, tucked safe in his bed, his dad calls what Stiles did, _"running away”_. There's a panic in his eyes that's only out of proportion until Stiles' hears about the fire. About all those deaths, with no one yet brought to justice. 

The wolf's mournful cry stays with him for a long time.

~*~

By the time Stiles is 16, the once sharp edges of the memory have gone hazy, and he almost manages to convince himself that the entire night in the woods was a dream.

And then he meets Derek Hale for the first time, and it all rushes back to him.

There's just... something about Derek. About his eyes, or the way he tilts his head and looks at Stiles like _he's_ the dream.

Something that reminds him so viscerally of the wolf, that Stiles can't breathe. Not like a panic attack, but a stone in his throat like he's going to cry.

~*~

When Stiles steps into the clearing, it's not a wolf that's waiting for him this time.

Derek's back is to him, but the light catches at the pale places where his skin isn't covered up by cotton and leather; the back of his neck, the tender place behind his ears. His hands, where they clench into loose fists.

"It was you," Stiles says, "That night in the woods. I wasn't dreaming, and it _was_ you."

Derek's turns, and he doesn't look anything like the angry and brooding person that he'd been the other day, when he'd found Scott and Stiles lurking around, looking for a body.

"Yes." And then Derek is crowding him against a tree. He buries his face in Stiles' neck and breathes for a long time. Stiles lets him, sinks his hands into Derek's hair in return

"You feel this too, don't you?" Stiles asks.

"Yes." Derek breathes the word against Stiles' lips, then chases them into his mouth.

 

The kiss feels like coming home. It feels huge and scary, but somehow neither of those things at the same time. Whatever this is, it started 6 years ago, and it was always destined to end here.

As the kiss gets deeper, Derek skims a hand under Stiles shirt. His hands are hot, and they leave goosebumps in their wake. Stiles arches into the contact, then fights a moan when Derek's hands slide to his belt, one working the buckle, and the other slipping under the waistband, thumb tracing Stiles' hipbone.

"Oh my god," Stiles groans, and then he whines when Derek pulls away, looks into his eyes.

"If we do this...Stiles this is _it_. If we do this, you're mine."

"Does that go for you too?"

Derek's smile is small and pained, but still genuine.

"Sooo...Werewolf married? You _are_ a werewolf right?"

Derek huffs a laugh, and then he's sliding a hand down the front of Stiles jeans, curling it around his cock.

"Yes."

* * *

**6**  
 **Pairings:** Allison/Lydia/Stiles/Isaac  
 **Warning:** hickeys? deception?  
 **Inspired By:**  
tell us nothing, tell us lies //  
all your passion that you hide //  
tonight the hunt for you  
(Hunt - Goldfrapp)

 

In the hush of the woods, the three of them lie in wait: red-hooded, whisper-quiet, and armed with arrows and purple powder.

They're waiting for a wolf to come along.

***

"We're not children anymore," Allison says. "We're going out to hunt."

"You don't even know what a wolf looks like, Allison," her mother says, eyes piercing and cold. "You have years yet to join us. The hunter's way is patience. Be patient."

They have never been patient.

***

They find no wolves the first day, so hunker down to sleep in a small hollow, leaves camouflaging their presence. The air is surprisingly warm, and clustered together they are even warmer. Lydia complains of dirt under her nails but curls her head under Allison's chin just the same. Across Lydia is Stiles—his arm stretches over both of them, and his hand rests in the curve of Allison's waist.

Sleep is easy.

***

When they wake, they aren't alone.

"You look comfortable," a boy says.

Allison freezes. She can just see the curly top of the intruder's head over Lydia's shoulder.

Stiles stretches outrageously and rolls over, smacking his lips and yawning.

"You must be new here," the boy says, his grin sharp and white-toothed. "To the woods. Welcome."

***

The boy's name is Isaac.

"Wolves?" he asks, with one eyebrow raised. "You see those deeper in the woods, sometimes. I can guide you, if you want."

They glance at each other, weighing and flinging opinions with their eyes.

Allison decides.

***

Isaac is lightfooted, and leads them through the woods in almost perfect silence. The forest gets warmer the farther in they go.

Allison takes the rear. She's watching when Isaac pauses to show something to Stiles, leaning gently into his space.

"Do you trust him?" Lydia murmurs between the branches.

"I'm not sure," Allison says. "I don't think he's leading us astray."

Up ahead, Isaac whispers something to Stiles, lips brushing his ear.

Lydia looks back at Allison. "Are you sure?"

***

They stop for the night.

The heat is sweltering. Allison peels out of her leather, and though she still has a tank top beneath she feels oddly naked. Lydia and Stiles watch her under their eyelashes, and she smiles shyly back at them.

Isaac isn't looking at all, head tilted down and away. Somehow that's thrilling too.

Lydia takes off her red hood, leaving just the color of her hair to spill around her shoulders. Stiles' forehead is shiny with sweat; he pulls off all three of his shirts and wipes his face with them. Lydia loops her finger in his belt loop and pulls him close.

"I'll sleep outside," Isaac says, eyes oddly bright.

"No," Allison says, glancing back at Stiles and Lydia. "Maybe—stay."

***

It's too warm to sleep, so they don't.

Lydia and Stiles kiss open-mouthed, leaning across her body. She groans and grabs Lydia by the hair, stealing her into a kiss. It's hard and animalistic; it's wet and full of teeth. It's just what she needs.

"Do you—" Stiles asks, hesitating with a hand on her thigh.

She says, "yes," and spreads her legs, an invitation. He moans a little, trembling, and slides his fingers closer, almost in. They've never gone this far before.

"I can just watch," Isaac says, his voice low and lazy. "I wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Touch if you want," Lydia tells him, a dare. "We've invited you, haven't we?"

"Yes," he says, licking his lips. "I suppose you have."

Isaac is a bit of a biter, leaving red hickeys on the inside of Allison's thighs. He's in the midst of leaving one on Stiles' neck when a twist of Lydia's wrist has him coming suddenly, unexpectedly.

Allison isn't sure, but she thinks she might have seen—teeth.

"A battle wound," Stiles laughs afterward. His neck is blotched purple and red, but the skin itself is unbroken. Isaac hums and noses at the spot, fingers splayed wide across Stiles' chest.

***

There has been no sign of a wolf for the entire journey, until suddenly—there is.

He is black and red and stands in the middle of the path, staring directly at them.

Allison goes for her bow, but stumbles—her thighs burn like fire, in little shapes like teeth. To her right, Stiles is on his knees, clutching at his neck. To her left, Lydia is untouched.

Up ahead, the wolf is not a wolf anymore, but a man.

"You're mine," he says simply.

***

Allison's parents had always told her this, but she had never quite understood them.

There is nothing more dangerous to a hunter than love.

* * *

**7**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** n/a  
 **Inspired By:** He did the monster mash / The monster mash / It was a graveyard smash  
-[The Monster Mash](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AxcM3nCsglA)

"Where's your costume?" Stiles asks.

"I'm a werewolf," Derek says, deadpan.

Stiles shakes his head and laughs. "Of course you are," he says and kisses him. "Come on."

They get drinks and Stiles reintroduces Derek to a few of his fraternity brothers whom Derek has met several times, but who never remember him due to their extreme intoxication at the time.

It took a long time to get why Stiles wanted to join a fraternity—he has the pack, after all, what greater fraternity is there—but the pack isn't around when he's at school, and he's always been kind of a loner so it makes sense that he'd want somewhere he could easily belong.

The party is full of werewolves, witches, vampires, leprechauns, and fairies, some of which are actually human. Of course, there are plenty of cop-out costumes—slutty whatevers and jocks in their actual athletic uniforms—but for the most part people have gone all out. Stiles made it clear he wasn't letting anyone attend who wasn't in costume, and his fraternity brothers take Stiles seriously.

Stiles himself flits about the party as a raven, keeping up on his hosting duties. His costume isn't much—black jeans and a black shirt—but he has great feathered wings strapped to his back that somehow move as if a part of him. The painted-on black eye mask is speckled with silver glitter that lends him an almost ethereal quality. Derek can't take his eyes off him.

\---

It's bizarre to watch Stiles' fraternity brothers interact unknowingly with these creatures of the night. Intent on having the most authentic Halloween party possible, Stiles invited all manner of creature the pack had befriended over the last few years. _Everyone loves a party_ , he'd said. _Even monsters like you_.

"I don't recognize those guys," Derek overhears. He follows the speakers' line of vision and has to tamp down a laugh. Boyd is talking with Oona and Nixie, a couple of Merfolk they'd had run-ins with several years back but whom they've come to respect and rely on.

"Stiles said they're from D-Chi," someone answers.

"They're _really_ dedicated to those costumes."

\---

Eventually Stiles gets Derek out on the dance floor.

"You've been watching me," Stiles says, as they sway together.

"Can't help it. That costume..." Derek looks him up and down, enchanted by Stiles' wings, which he discovers aren't strapped on at all. He can't stop running his fingers along Stiles' back where skin ends and wing begins.

"Leaf helped. They'll disappear after a few hours, but I thought it'd be fun to have real wings for a night."

"I like them," Derek admits. Stiles kisses him, long and slow. The DJ's exhausted his Halloween music stash and moves on to mood music as the party winds down. 

"Come with me." Stiles takes his hand and leads him to the edge of the graveyard behind a huge crypt.

Stiles drops to his knees as soon as they're out of sight, wings spreading out behind him. He mouths at Derek's dick through his jeans—always so eager—while his fingers fumble with Derek's belt.

His dick is in Stiles' mouth before Derek can register cool, night air on sensitive skin. Stiles sucks him down hard and fast, no nuance or finesse in the act, just pure want. Derek fists a hand in Stiles' hair, guiding him back and forth with increasing speed. Tearing fabric echoes in his ears before he realizes he's torn Stiles' shirt clean off.

Shiny, black feathers practically glow in the moonlight. Derek runs gentle fingers along the edge of Stiles' wing and Stiles moans around Derek in response, feathers ruffling.

Derek feels his orgasm building deep in his gut. He has to move to lean back against the cold, marble wall because his knees threaten to give out. Stiles' fingers and mouth are _insanely_ talented and he knows precisely how to take Derek apart. Then Stiles looks up at him through that painted on mask.

It starts as a low growl in the back of his throat. The shift overtakes him, quickly and uncontrollably, the moment he's finished coming. The combination of Stiles and the full moon is too much for his shattered control. He lands on the ground on all fours and _howls_.

The record screeches to a halt. When Derek looks up, he discovers he's fallen out of the protective shadows of the crypt and is in now full view of the party guests.

"Wolf!" Someone shouts. " _Run!_ "

* * *

**8**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** Rough sex in the form of biting  
 **Inspired By:** "That boy is a monster... he's a monster in my bed" - Lady Gaga

Stiles is honestly a little devastated when he finds out that Derek's dick doesn't swell twice the size when confronted with his hot ass, nor is there any abnormal amounts of jizz involved in Derek's orgasms. He just doesn't understand why the internet would lead him so furiously astray—like, that is a straight up betrayal. Really, none of the werewolfy things he expected of Derek in the sack are remotely true. 

At least so he thinks. 

It's a surprisingly lazy Sunday. Usually, someone is threatening to behead them way late into the night and there is a lot of scrambling in the morning light to make sure there aren't any visible body parts sticking out of the ground from a hasty burial or blood stains. 

But the only thing that happened last night was that Isaac got lost in a cave for a good three hours and whined for twice that amount of time because bugs are gross, moss is unnatural and he wanted a fucking burger. Baby werewolves, man. The result is Stiles can think up a pretty good excuse to his dad and spend the morning getting a lazy, dedicated blowjob by his ~~boyfriend~~ buddyfuck. It's not the first time Derek's mouth has been on his dick but it's the first time there is time enough to really draw it out and just enjoy not being in life threatening situations for longer than it takes to get into another one. 

Stiles isn't shy, he pushes his fingers into Derek's soft, still damp form the shower hair and tries to get Derek to do what Stiles' wants but it's mostly pointless. Derek seems damned and determined to suck every ounce of coherence out through his dick—Stiles is mostly not protesting.

"What the _fuck_ ," Stiles spits out, balls aching when Derek pulls off and smirks. 

Then he goes after Stiles' thighs with his teeth.

"Oh my god."

He doesn't draw blood but Stiles can feel the bruises blooming, bright and so close to the surface that it prickles his skin, sending shivers up his spine. Derek sucks large marks on the inside of his pale thighs until Stiles is shaking, choked off little sobs breaking into curses when Derek looks up. His eyes are still hazel but the smugness that goes hand in hand with dramatic warehouse entrances is there. 

Ridiculously, his eyes are just as hot as his beej skills. 

"Shitshit—jesusfuck," Stiles says, but then the sucking lets ups just a little bit to make room for more dick action and hell yeah, blowjobs. 

Pathetically, he feels close to coming and he's leaking a mess onto Derek's tongue for about seven prolonged seconds before Derek's teeth are invited to the party of pain in and around Stiles' crotch. 

"Are you—fuckfuckfuck— _Derek_ ," there is definitely teeth on his dick. Why is that awesome? It's like he's being brainwashed by werewolf weirdness and he hasn't even noticed it because Derek has super perky nipples and they're always almost dying. 

He's definitely noticing now. 

There are a few moments when it's just suction and teeth and his thighs are burning. Stiles is fairly sure he's gonna die. It's too much and Derek is just smirking, mouth filthy and horrible and yeah—it doesn't take much more than that. 

A sticky, spit covered finger scratches it's way down his balls and then it's _inside him_ because Derek is a sneaky bastard and god—

He comes like that, a dry finger pressing inside, Derek's hand choking his dick and a mouthful of sharp teeth smiling at him from where they're nestled against his thighs. Derek finishes him out like that, probably enjoying the frankly embarrassing noises coming out of Stiles' mouth that are definitely sobs and like, whimpers but god. His crotch is _bruised_ and Derek is now tonguing at his balls like that's an acceptable method of comfort. 

A 'good game' ass tap in the war of sneaky, surprise werewolf sex. 

"You asshole," Stiles manages to get out, after Derek's jerked off all over the blotchy, shipwreck of his thighs and looks smug as fuck. "You said marking wasn't a real thing, that werewolves didn't do that shit."

Derek stares. Stiles imitates, " _Pesky human, get your head out of the Internet, you perv_!"

There's a hint of a smile but it's still self-satisfied and finally, Derek leans down and says,

"It's not a werewolf thing, Stiles. It's a me thing." 

Then he shoves his jizz fingers in Stiles' face and totally ruins the moments. 

Typical.

* * *

**9**  
 **Pairings:** Danny/Solo (imagined/implied Derek/Scott, Derek/Stiles)  
 **Warning:** none given  
 **Inspired By:** "In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer." [Wiki PAGE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slayer_\(Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer\))

 

Werewolves are real. And Miguel is Derek- _freaking_ -Hale. 

Danny dried himself off then wrapped the towel around his waist. He thought back to the afternoon when ‘Miguel’ had glared at him and Stiles. _Shirtless_. And new questions skittered across his mind: Why was Derek Hale in Stiles Stilinski’s room? What was the angry striptease about? And, seriously, why was _Derek_ in _Stiles’s_ room? 

Danny pulled on a pair sweats, slid the DVD into the player, then hit play. The best way to deal with real werewolves was with fake vampires. Apparently. 

_“In every generation there is a Chosen One,”_ he listened to the familiar intro and watched the the first disk. But sometime during Episode 4 Danny realized that Sunnydale was actually Beacon Hills. And Scott McCall was actually Buffy Summers; reluctant hero with a nerd posse. Only Scott was way hotter and he had a dick. Danny sat up against his headboard. If Scott was Buffy, who was Angel?

Jackson? No. Derek, Danny decided. The leather, the fur, the weird stalking (if Stiles was to be believed). On the screen Angel and Buffy were in her room, stuttering over words and lovesick looks. And then they were kissing. Danny squinted at the screen and imagined Scott and Derek. 

He imagined Derek glaring at Scott; they’d be arguing. Derek would back Scott against the door and Scott would growl, he’d push back. Derek would took the step forward, tighten his fist. On screen Angel pulled Buffy closer. Derek would grab Scott, one large hand wrapping around Scott’s neck. And then they’d kiss. Tongues sliding, teeth biting, hands fisting. 

“Fuck,” Danny hissed. 

Scott’d tighten his hold on Derek’s hair and pull, _hard_. Derek would growl into his mouth, bite Scott’s lower lip then slam them against the wall. Derek’s eyes would flash red, his fangs lengthen. He’s slide his leg between Scott’s and press hard. 

Danny closed his eyes and rubbed the heel of his hand against his hardening cock. Derek would pull at his own shirt, strip it off and throw it behind him. Scott would have moved to Derek’s jaw, his neck. And Derek --

The credits started and Danny rolled his eyes open, rubbed his hand over the line of his cock again. Not cool, Buff. He turned on _Surprise_ , turned the volume up and pushed his sweats down. He listened to the voices play, the tension between Buffy and Angel build. 

He popped the lid to the lube, imagined Scott waiting in Derek’s bed. It’d be raining and Scott would have his shirt already off. When Derek would walk in, he’d.... 

No. 

Danny rolled onto his back. Scott wouldn’t wait for Derek, and he wouldn’t run to Derek’s lair. 

He thought back to Stiles’s room with Derek. _Stiles_ , though, would wait for Derek. But he’d leave a trail of clothes to the bed where’d he’d be waiting with his cock in his hand. 

Danny moved his hand down, gripped his cock and jerked it the way Stiles would. The way Stiles would pull tight, slide down loose. He wouldn’t want to cum, not until Derek was there. Danny barely heard Angel walk into the scene, but the music slid into an erotic play. He imagined Derek walking in, seeing Stiles’s fingers slide over and around his hole, pulling his cock with his other hand. And Derek would jerk still; his eyes glued on Stiles spread out for him.

 _“Angel,_ ” Buffy gasped in the background. Stiles wouldn’t gasp, he’d look at Derek and smirk. He’d dare Derek. And Derek would accept, he’d cross the room and stop Stiles’s hands, pull Stiles’s fingers from his ass. Stiles would whimper into Derek’s mouth, he’d beg Derek for everything; he’d beg Derek to fuck him. _“Please,_ ” Buffy cried against Angel. 

Danny sped his hand, tightened his hold until his cock was in a slick heat. He bit his lip and ground his hips up, imagined Derek was on top of him. He imagined Stiles was beneath him. Derek would slide he claws over Stiles’s ribs. And before Stiles could speak Derek would bite down on his bared throat, he’d suck a bruise into his skin. He’d fuck into Stiles until he was trembling and begging for more. 

Danny groaned, stripped his cock faster. He tightened his fist until he came with a moan over his hand and stomach. He sucked a breath, then another. He wiped himself clean then lay back. Vampires were apparently not the way to handle werewolves.

* * *

**10**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Erica/Boyd/Isaac  
 **Warning:** none  
 **Inspired By:**  
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack  
– Rudyard Kipling

 

She’s stopped shaking when the door of their cage burst open. Her eyes are glassy and her hair is a tangled mess in his hands from where he’d been pulling it to keep her from losing consciousness. The red clashes with the blond but they are both long past caring.

Boyd holds her tight in his arms and snarls with what little strength left in him, before he realizes that the wolf with red eyes staring down at them has no intention of smearing more of their blood into the earth.

For the first time in weeks the beast in Boyd unclenches and whimpers as Derek’s scent surrounds them.

***

Isaac is warm against his back as they both help Erica into a shirt too big for her, the harsh black only making the bruises and scratches on her skin stand out more. Her hair is a wet tangle around her shoulders and she’s shaking again, this time from shock. Boyd runs his hands across her skin trying to chase the chill away uncaring of the way his own cuts pull and burn. They did worse to her, delighting in the way she screamed.

Boyd doesn’t know where they are. The place doesn’t smell like anyone’s in the pack. But the floor is soft under his bare feet. Derek had pushed Boyd and Erica to a bed against the wall the second he’d gotten them out of the shower.

He’s at the door with a strange wolf that Boyd doesn’t recognize. All he knows is Derek is telling him to leave and locking the door behind him.

Boyd feels Erica tense as Derek’s approaches them and he gets it. Derek might have saved them but it doesn’t change the fact that they left. They turned their back on their Alpha and look at happened to them.

“It’s okay.” Derek’s voice is soft and he’s settling down on the bed on Erica’s other side, letting her press in close against him. There is a brush in Derek’s hand and he’s gentle as he starts to pull it through her hair. She leans back against him and uncoils. Boyd doesn’t doubt that if she could she’d be purring. 

Isaac presses in closer and Boyd lets himself relax as well.

They’re safe.

***

Erica is curled up between him and Derek. Her face is pressed into his chest and her hand is holding Derek’s against her heart. Her heartbeat is steady and for the first time in weeks she smells strong. The fear was washed off her skin with the blood and Boyd just breathes it all in.

He can’t close his eyes though, the fear still clawing at him that this all could be another trick. That he’ll wake up and Erica’s body will be cold beside him and he’ll be covered in their blood. 

She was dying and he would have been next. 

Erica shifts, the shirt dragging up to show the whites of her thighs and Boyd tenses again, the movement startling him. 

Isaac breathes against the back of his beck, hand tightening around his midsection and Derek’s eyes are open, staring at him. Boyd falls asleep with the red of Derek’s eyes guiding him.

***

Erica is screaming and Boyd feels claws dig into him before he could do anything. It takes him a second to realize its Isaac holding him down and Erica is _fine_. She’s cradled in Derek’s lap, wrapped tight around him and shaking. But she’s fine.

She pulls back and strips the shirt off over her head and before pressing her bare skin against Derek’s. 

Boyd gets it. 

The need to crawl inside their Alpha, their pack. To forgot the past few weeks.

Derek seems to understand too, wrapping his arms around her and whispering softly in her ear. 

Isaac seems to catch on as well, pushing Boyd’s shirt off and the next thing he knows they’re both pressed in tight with the others, skin against skin and it’s _right_.

Boyd doesn’t stop Isaac from leaning forward and licking into Erica’s mouth, hand gentle on her face as he lays her out between them. Erica is hot around him and Derek’s mouth is gentle as he traces her nipple. Isaac is hard behind him and all Boyd can smell now is Pack. 

Derek’s eyes are red again; power spilling out and covering them.

Strength flows between them, the weakness slipping away and Boyd has never felt more powerful, has never felt like he’s belonged anywhere else but here.

* * *

**11**  
 **Pairings:** Stiles/Pack  
 **Warning:** Sex pollen, pack orgy  
 **Inspired By:** “If you call one wolf, you invite the pack.” - Bulgarian Proverb

Stiles knows how to avoid poison oak, but whatever he's fallen into during one of Derek's latest pack exercise, he's very sure no one ever warned him about it, and that is epically unfair.

It started off as a flush as he jogged after the rest of the pack. By the time they'd finished their run, he was hot all over, but figured a run would do that to you. But several hours and one icy shower later, he's still feeling flushed and his breath is short and he's very sure something is very wrong.

He texts Derek because Scott may be his best friend, but he's they'll never be able to look each other in the eye again if they have this conversation. _Sos need ur help stat._ He unlocks the window, then falls into bed feverish and aching.

Twenty minutes later, the window's untouched but footsteps creak on the stairs. He has a moment to panic, afraid his dad is home early and they will _definitely_ never be able to look each other in the eye if he finds Stiles in this state. But when the door opens, it's Derek, looking grim. And behind him, the whole goddamn pack crowding into Stiles's room.

"Oh my God," Stiles moans. "I asked you for _help_. I asked nice. Did you have to bring witnesses to my humiliation?"

"Hush." Erica prods him upright and then presses in against his side, one hand spreading low across his stomach. Need hits him like a punch to the gut. "He didn't bring us. We came because we wanted to." Her teeth graze the shell of his ear. "We're pack. We're a package deal."

"I can't—" He looks desperately at Derek. "I need—"

"We know." They pile onto the bed, a tangle of limbs, a mass of skin pressed against his. Isaac slides in behind Stiles, chest against his back and strong arms wrapped around his middle. He breathes against Stiles's ear and it's steadying. "We smelled it when we came in. It's a poison, Stiles. The only way to work it out of your system—"

"Yeah." He chokes off a laugh. "I can guess."

"Do you want—"

" _Please_."

Erica's hand slips down to take his cock out of his pants. He's been hard for hours, and the touch of her fingers feels like a brand. He arches, crying out, but the pack steadies him. Even Scott, who looks solemn, but doesn't look like he's going to be forever traumatized by this. He leans his forehead against Stiles's shoulder and murmurs, "Breathe. Just breathe. We've got you. You're going to be fine."

With a dozen hands tracing over his skin and six mouths leaving damp trails across it, Stiles is starting to feel like he might. The fire burning beneath his skin is changing, shifting to a more familiar heat. Erica pulls her skirt up, straddles his hips, and sinks onto him with one hand braced on his chest, pressing him back against Isaac.

Isaac's breath is a caress and Erica rides him, gentle and sure. Scott mouths at Stiles's shoulder and strokes his arm while Boyd sucks bruises on his chest. And Jackson — God, even fucking _Jackson_ is here, and he glares when Stiles chokes and tries to push him back. "Don't be an idiot, Stilinski," he snaps, and then sucks at Stiles's nipple as though to prove his value.

Stiles turns his head, seeking Derek, seeking something to anchor him before he flies apart beneath the pack's collective attention. And Derek's there, right there, leaning in and sliding his hand over Stiles's jaw, and before Stiles even has to ask Derek's kissing him, mouth open and slick and filthy. And it's perfect. Stiles grabs onto fistfuls of Derek's hair and moans into his mouth as he comes, body shaking, twitching beneath the pack's touch. They lay him down and crowd in close around him, on top of him. Erica climbs off of his spent cock and kisses him with her red, curving lips. "Sometimes even Batman needs to be saved," she says, and curls against his side.

He is going to be in so much trouble if his dad comes home to this. But as the poison slips out of his system and sleep comes to take its place, he wraps his arms around as many of them as he's able and murmurs, "Stay."

"We're not going anywhere," they whisper back, and he falls asleep content.

* * *

**12**  
 **Pairings:** derek/stiles/lydia  
 **Warning:** none, really.  
 **Inspired By:** _The wolf, he howls, the lion does roar_  
The wolf lets him in, the lion runs in through the door  
The real fun begins, as they both thrash upon you, and rip open your flesh  
The lion eats his fill and then, the wolf cleans up the mess  
Thrice - The Lion and The Wolf

"Stiles..." Derek groans, pushing him down against the bed and pinning him there with his weight. Stiles arches beneath him, baring his throat to Derek's hungry mouth. 

"Derek, you almost cracked his head on the headboard," Lydia scolds, crawling on besides the pair of them pushing them apart.

Derek yields and Lydia takes his place perfectly straddling Stiles; she doesn't have the strength to pin Stiles, but she doesn't need it.

Stiles can be such a good boy.

Derek moves behind Lydia, fitting himself to her back and slotting his dick into the satin-covered crack of her ass. He loves the smooth feel of the material against his cock; he loves seeing his come stain it more.

Lydia's trailing lazy kisses down Stiles's throat, as he holds perfectly still for them. Derek leans over her shoulder, grinding his dick into her ass, as he starts pressing biting kisses into the other side of Stiles's neck.

Stiles's moans are obscene already; his hands are there seeking out Derek's and tangling their fingers together.

Lydia thighs spread wide over Stiles's hips and Derek can almost smell the scent of her cunt on Stiles's cock. She pulls back and frantically tugs at her panties, they're last bit of clothing between the three of them.

"Condom." Her voice is raw and needy. She throws her underwear over her shoulder and holds her hand out.

Derek hates that they have to wear them when they fuck her cunt, but he's not ready for pups. Not yet.

Stiles hands the condom to her, packet already opened and sits up on his elbows to watch her slowly roll it down his cock. He licks his lips as she strokes it once, before throwing a leg over him, leaning forward so his dick points straight at her cunt. Derek can hear the sound of them kissing, the wet noises and whispered words.

"Don't be a creeper," Stiles says, his first words in what feels like forever.

"Put him in me," Lydia commands, smiling back at him through a tangle of red hair.

They scare him sometimes.

Stiles is hot and hard in his hand, the latex feels and smells horrible, he knows it's more than a human could smell, but he doesn't care. He drags Stiles's cock through Lydia's folds, slicking it up in her juices. She's so ripe and ready for him, for _them_.

Lydia shudders as he rubs against her clit with the blunt head before tugging it down to rest at her entrance. He holds it steady as Lydia pushes back, letting the tip of Stiles slip into her.

She doesn't go for a slow, teasing build-up, not tonight. She rides Stiles hard and fast, her breasts bouncing as she takes what she wants from their boyfriend.

Derek slides up to Stiles's head, thrown to the side, where his mouth is open in a shock of pleasure as Lydia fucks him.

It doesn't take much to lean over him, to run the glistening head of his cock against Stiles's full bottom lip. Stiles's eyes fly open and his tongue darts out to capture the smear of pre-come Derek's left on his lips.

He slowly starts feeding his cock to Stiles, growling as the fucking tease slowly sucks on what he's given, fluttering his tongue against the underside.

He braces himself against the headboard as Stiles sucks him. Lydia's getting close now, her thrusts are losing rhythm and she's working her clit hard and fast, the wet slapping sounds almost deafening to his ears above the harsh panting of their breaths.

She comes with a gasp and almost throws herself off as she thrashes through her orgasm, dragging Stiles with her and making Derek withdraw his cock.

It's Derek that has to pull the used condom off Stiles's softening dick. He can't resist a small taste, licking at Stiles groin where Lydia's juices have soaked and some of Stiles's own come has dribbled out of the condom.

He noses at it, the smell of his mates as he frantically works his own dick; he licks Stiles as clean as he can. He feels delicate but firm fingers grip his cock; Lydia working him towards orgasm. He leans in for a kiss with Stiles, mouth still musky with the taste of Derek's cock, as he comes over Lydia's hand.

They collapse in a pile of sated bodies smelling of sex and sweat, of pack and mate, of home.

* * *

**13**  
 **Pairings:** Peter/Stiles  
 **Warning:** none given  
 **Inspired By:** “If you call one wolf, you invite the pack.”  
\- Bulgarian Proverb

“You need to realize something Stiles.” Peter purred, his eyes glowing the fierce blue of a beta wolf. “If you call one wolf, you invite the pack.”  
Stiles sputtered and backed away. “I didn’t call anyone! I just…”  
“Just…?” Peter smirked, “You called Scott but he denied your request even before you spoke it. You tried calling the huntress and dear sweet Lydia but both of them wouldn’t give you the time of day to hear you out. And now…me.”  
“Well actually not you.” Stiles said, “I was trying to contact Derek.”  
Peter scoffed, “And do you think my nephew would have agreed?”  
“Well…” Stiles sighed and shook his head, “Not really. I’m pretty sure I would have chicken out before I could ask him.”  
“So like I said, me.”  
“Not you!”  
“Why not?”  
“Well for many reasons, none the least that you’re a 35 year old man who is creepier then the guy who stands at the corner of the elementary school with a trench coat filled with suckers.”  
“…ouch.”  
“So no, not you. I think I’ll just go now.”  
Peter ran forward and bared the door, “Oh no, this is too delicious a opportunity to waste, you want to be knotted-”  
“NOT OUT LOUD!!”  
“And I so happen to have a lovely knot that as a gentlewolf would be reminisce to give you what you want.”  
“I don’t want it to be you!”  
“And Scott was the better choice?!” The disbelief in Peter’s voice caused Stiles to flush.  
“Well no. But I never said I wanted to…have sex with him!! I’m curious okay?! I just want to look.”  
Peter sent Stiles a knowing look. “At first, but you know that once you see it you’d want to touch it and touching leads to sucking and…”  
“I get it! Stop!”  
“So?”  
“So what?”  
“Want to see it?” Peter leered.  
Stiles slumped in defeat. “…yes. Damnit.”  
\--  
“Oh!” Stiles gasped out as a slick tongue circled the head of his cock, he chocked in the whimpers that begged to be let out.  
“Don’t hold back sweetling. I want everyone to hear you.”  
“E-everyone? Who are you-oh!”Stiles gasped as Peter swallowed him down without pause. Stiles withered on one of the makeshift beds in the warehouse that Derek and his pack meet for trainings and meetings.  
Stiles cried out as he reached his peak and spent deep down Peter’s throat, he could feel the older man’s throat muscles contracting against his sensitive flesh and Stiles felt his face become wet with more sweat and tears. He’d lost the battle more then a half hour ago when Peter had wrangled his first orgasm from rimming him. This was his second and judging by the large bulge in Peter’s pants it wouldn’t be the last.  
“Now then, I think we should head towards the main delight don’t you think?” Peter purred, “I won’t take you-” Peter shush Stiles before the boy could start complaining. “-like I was saying I won’t fuck you this time. Instead I think I would like to feel that delightfully sarcastic tongue on my knot. Any objections?”  
Stiles whimpered as his cock once again began to harden.  
“Good, then my dear…suck.” Peter pulled his cock out of his pants, shimmering them down to his ankles so that Stiles had a clear view and reach of his goods.  
Stiles stared down hard at Peter’s cock, he was a good 8 inches and at least an inch thicker then Stiles’s own cock with a lot of foreskin, but none of that was what captured Stiles’s attention, no it was the large and hard knot at the base of the cock that had Stiles drooling at the mouth.  
Stiles leaned forward and began to mouth at the piece of flesh, it didn’t take very long for Stiles to get into a rhythm of alternating sucking on the head of the flushed cock and licking and nibbling along the hard flesh of the knot. Soon, way sooner then either of them would of liked Peter began to orgasm. Cum pulsed out of the cock in long streaks, painting Stiles face and neck with its sticky mess.  
Peter sighed and leaned back from Stiles mouth which was still licking along his spent cock and knot, unwilling to let it go.  
“Don’t worry Stiles, I’m sure the others are tired of waiting so if you miss it so much I’m sure one of the others will be willing to let you play with theirs.”  
Stiles froze. “Wait-what?”  
Peter smirked as Derek, Boyd, Erica and Isaac walked out from the shadows, each of them had an expression of hazy lust on their faces.  
“Remember Stiles, if you call one wolf, you invite the pack.”

* * *

**14**  
 **Pairings:** Lydia/Jackson, Imagined Jackson/Stiles  
 **Warning:** none given  
 **Inspired By:** _Got a curse I cannot lift ... Gonna teach you tricks that'll blow your mongrel mind_ from TV on the Radio's, "Wolf Like Me"

Jackson _looks_. It comes as no surprise to Lydia. He’s the prototypical archetype of the guy that _looks_. Getting worked up over it would be the greatest exercise in futility Lydia could ever engage in. She hardly notices it now, not until the nature of what he’s looking at changes.

She watches Jackson’s eyes take on that glazed expression, his mouth dropping open slightly. It’s almost cute. She follows his eye line and freezes. Because he’s not staring at a low neckline or tight jeans. He’s looking at Stilinski. His eyes are diligently tracking the zig-zagging movements of his hands before they refocus on the play of his mouth.

Huh. Well that’s new.

* * *

“Close your eyes.”

Lydia rolls her own when Jackson only stares up at her, wary and untrusting. Really, does she have to do everything herself? _Apparently_ , she thinks, annoyed, as she closes them for him.

Jackson’s whole body is tense when she lies down next to him. She rests her palm over the tattoo of his heart and presses soft kisses to his jaw, his ear, she even drops one on his lips that he half-heartedly answers. He relaxes by increments and she whispers into his skin, “I’ve seen you looking at him.”

He seizes right back up again and Lydia’s smile widens. “At Stilinski,” she says, because she wants him to _know_ she knows.

Jackson’s eyes shoot open, the heartbeat beneath her hand quickening. “I _don’t_ —”

Lydia shakes her head. “Shh, close your eyes.”

Jackson stares at her for a long moment, swallows. He settles back, letting his eyes slide closed a second time.

“I don’t blame you,” Lydia admits, a pout to her lips and a finger trailing down Jackson’s neck. “Not with a mouth like that.”

Jackson bites his lip as he shifts on the bed and Lydia can see the front of his jeans tenting. “I don’t—I’m _not_ —” His voice shakes and for a second she wonders if he’s covering a sob.

“Warm and _wet_ and always open.” She enunciates her words and there’s a nice little _pop_ at the end of them. Jackson groans low and throaty, trying to hide it from her, and she walks her fingers down his chest. “Imagine what it would feel like _on_ you, Jackson,” she says, breathing the words straight into his ear. “He’s a virgin if I’ve ever seen one but he’s got natural talent written all over him, doesn’t he?”

Jackson closes his eyes tighter, his legs spreading involuntarily. “I have a theory about why you call him Stilinski, you know?” And she wants to straddle him but this is about the sound of her voice and the fantasy of Stiles. Nothing more. “It’s because when you’re alone, late at night, and you slip your hand under the covers, it’s _Stiles_ you shout when you come.”

And Jackson is _leaking_ , moaning, and she’s hardly touched him. It’s the name. The name he can’t say himself, the name he can’t admit to wanting. She’s never seen him so turned on before. “What is it about _Stiles_ , Jackson? His big, _strong_ hands, his virgin mouth, or is it just that you would be his first?” Jackson pulls in a rattling breath, gasps. His hips are twisting, shifting off the bed, and she knows he’s imagining Stiles taking his cock, swallowing it down while he stares up at Jackson with innocent – whatever color eyes he has. Blue? Jackson knows. She would bet it all that Jackson knows.

“Can you see him looking up at you with those wide, baby blue—”

Jackson shakes his head and he’s almost too far gone to say, “B-brown.” Lydia’s lips twist. It’s what she expected but still.

“I could talk him into bed with you. Tell him I wanted to watch.” Jackson’s breath stutters in his chest and he lets out an almost obscene moan. “But that’s not the way you want him, is it?” Lydia can see the sweat beading on his forehead and his upper lip. He’s close. “You want _Stiles_ to come to you on his own. You want him to push you up against the lockers after lacrosse, rip away your towel and fall to his knees so he can finally put that wide, _mobile_ mouth to good use.”

“Lydia—” Jackson gasps out, claws shredding his sheets.

“Imagine grabbing the back of his head, fucking his face—”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jackson whimpers as he explodes into orgasm, and then, “ _Stiles_.”

Another hypothesis proved.

* * *

**15**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** dystopian AU, canon-typical violence  
 **Inspired By:** “…my right hand is the wolf.” ~Margaret Atwood, “The Puppet of the Wolf”

“Stiles, get up. Someone’s coming.”

Stiles managed to stifle a groan. He’d been sleeping deeply – much more so than he should have in this long-abandoned house. “I told you we shouldn’t have stayed here for the night,” he hissed. 

Derek ignored him and peered toward the front of the house.

“How many of them?” Stiles asked, quickly lacing up his boots. 

“Five,” Derek said. “They know we’re here.”

He shifted into beta form as Stiles picked up his rusty machete. Derek gave Stiles a quick nod and they both moved out of the bedroom, unwilling to be cornered in the back of the house.

They met up with the other group in the living room, and Stiles immediately found a sawed-off shotgun pointed at his chest. “Drop the knife, boy,” the man with the gun grunted.

Stiles almost laughed. This was certainly no group of hunters. Three of them were armed only with makeshift clubs and the only other one with a firearm – a kid, barely more than a teenager – was holding his handgun _sideways_. There was almost certainly no wolfsbane or mountain ash in their weapons. Still, a chest full of buckshot would slow Derek down as his body healed around it.

Derek put himself between Stiles and the gun, and the man snorted derisively. “There doesn’t have to be violence, son. Call off your pet werewolf here and we’ll talk.”

Stiles stepped up beside Derek. “I’m sorry, _pet_ werewolf?”

The leader nodded. “Smart move, scrawny guy like you pickin’ up an attack dog.”

Derek had apparently had enough. He let out an almost subvocal growl, which startled the others but gave Stiles his cue. Derek bore right as Stiles bore left – but not before swinging the machete up into the forearm of the man with the shotgun.

The whole thing lasted a matter of seconds, Derek easily slashing the leader’s throat before pouncing on two of the raiders armed with clubs. The boy with the handgun fired on Stiles, his shot going wide since his grip couldn’t handle the kickback. Stiles slashed once across his stomach and, in the same smooth motion, brought the machete down on the back of his neck as the boy crumpled forward. The last man was already out the door.

Stiles’ heart was pounding and he was breathing hard, even though this was far from their hardest or bloodiest fight. The way his blood rushed whenever they survived another one… “Derek, get over here.”

Derek had shifted back to human, but his eyes were still burning red. “You giving your pet werewolf commands now?” he growled, pressing Stiles into the nearest wall.

The adrenaline was still pumping fast in Stiles’ veins as he crushed his mouth against Derek’s. Derek looped an arm around Stiles’ back and lifted him until Stiles could wind both legs around Derek’s hips.

Wiping a stray splatter of blood from Derek’s cheek, Stiles whispered, “How fucked up is it that I get off on you taking down three guys in thirty seconds?”

Derek laughed darkly, grinding his hips into Stiles’ until Stiles forgot to breath. “No more fucked up than how hot you look with that machete,” he muttered against Stiles’ throat, then continued sucking what would become a bright, livid bruise into his skin.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles groaned as Derek found the right angle, slotting their erections together and getting just the right pressure on Stiles’ cock through the fabric of his jeans. Their clothes were ruined with blood anyway; might as well go all the way with it. Wouldn’t be the first time. “ _Faster_.”

Derek grunted and Stiles leaned back to let the wall take some of his weight and give Derek more room to move. “C’mon, you sick bastard,” he moaned, bucking in Derek’s hold. “Make me come.”

It only took a few more thrusts before Stiles was arching his back and shaking with release. Derek continued rutting messily against his hip, Stiles hissing with the friction on his oversensitive cock but unwilling to let go of Derek until he came, shoving Stiles so hard into the wall that it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Eventually, Stiles lowered his unsteady legs to the ground. Then they set about the task of digging through the dead men’s rucksacks and pockets, looking for anything of value.

Stiles heard a soft gurgle to his left: the boy Stiles had taken down was barely clinging to life. Derek leaned over and, with a single claw, mercifully slit his throat.

* * *

**16**  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles  
 **Warning:** blood drinking (for a blood-bond)  
 **Inspired By:** _The wolf is carnivore incarnate[...], only immaculate flesh appeases him._ \- Angela Carter, "The Company of Wolves"

The chains Scott had used to keep Stiles in place shone brightly under the light of the full moon, only a small breeze and Stiles' deep breathing breaking the eerie silence of the night. Scott's wolf howled within him, so Scott howled too, loving the way Stiles' breath stuttered, his heartbeat quickened. 

Under the pale light of the moon, Scott couldn’t tell Stiles had spent all summer outside anymore, his skin a shade of gray-blue, washed out, subdued. He ran his forefinger down Stiles' naked torso, his claw leaving a scratch in its wake, the blood pumping closer and closer to the surface; it was intoxicating. 

Scott leaned down and pressed his lips to Stiles', nipping with his sharp teeth, but drawing no blood. Not yet. Stiles shivered. 

"Are you sure?" Scott pulled back, he had to look Stiles in the face for this, for Stiles’ benefit more than his own; he could hear the steady (but fast) beating of Stiles' heart, could smell arousal flowing off him in waves.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in his voice. Nor his heart. Scott smiled, kissing Stiles gently once more.

The spell Deaton had given them came from some ancient tome or other, and he’d said something about believing, and letting the magic of the Earth and the Moon rise together and seal the bond forever. Stiles had looked enraptured, listening to every word with his whole body, perched on the edge of a stool. 

Scott had been glad neither of them were werewolves. He knew (theoretically, since he was otherwise occupied at the time) that Stiles had done _something_ before, that had made him believe in magic then, but Scott couldn’t be sure. After all that had happened already, Scott believed in heartbreak, pain, grief and regret. He believed in people, maybe even the good in some, but he also believed some were plain evil. And through it all, Scott also believed in Stiles. 

So he let his claws extend further now, raking across Stiles' skin, making Stiles shiver. Scott watched the way Stiles' cock twitched against his hip, heard the way his breath and heart stuttered whenever Scott got near him. 

They'd put the chains on to root Stiles to the earth, but now that Scott had Stiles here, that they had a bit more time before the moon moved directly overhead, he wanted to make it worthwhile. 

He wrapped a clawed hand around Stiles' cock and relished in the way Stiles thrashed in the chains.

"Scott, what-" Stiles began to say, but Scott kissed him again, silencing his questions and doubts, his hand moving up and down now, a steady pumping, like the beating of Stiles’ heart.

"Figure we can make this more fun than just all that creepy blood stuff," Scott said, trying for a joke. Failing by a long shot. But Stiles only nodded, leaned up and kissed Scott again, body relaxing completely. Stiles trusted him. 

Scott kissed him back hard. He moved on top of Stiles, letting his claw drop to the ground and dig into the dirt there, anchoring him as he began to thrust against Stiles, their cocks trapped between their bodies, sliding inelegantly. The friction swayed from too little to too much and the kiss turned to breathing in each others' frustrated moans. 

Stiles tugged at the chains on his hands and feet, wanting to fix it, no doubt, but for once, Scott had the plan, Scott was in control. He relished in Stiles' desperation, in his need and the emotions that swirled around them, that fed his wolf, drove him wild. As the moon rose higher and Scott could feel Stiles getting closer, he bit into his wrist and pushed it to Stiles' mouth, howling as Stiles sucked at the wound, drinking from him. He thrust down harder and faster, digging his claw deeper into the dirt when Stiles came, shuddering underneath him.

Scott's own orgasm came moments later, feeling like an outer body experience. The moon shone above them and he bit down on Stiles' shoulder – a sudden rush of blood and power and love into his body. Scott almost collapsed on Stiles, all his muscles giving out, body in a state of weightlessness, like his teeth in Stiles' neck and the chains holding Stiles were the only things keeping him from flying away. He could feel the magic flowing from the Earth to Stiles and into him then, and they were one. And Scott believed.


	2. Group B: With Warnings and Pairings

**17**  
 **Pairings:** Danny/Derek  
 **Warning:** None  
 **Inspired By:** “I saw a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic's/And his hair was perfect.” --Warren Zevon, “Werewolves of London”

He knew Derek would find him. 

After everything that had happened, Danny was tired. He was tired of being scared, of being betrayed, of being left in the dark.

The image never left his nightmares of his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, dead boyfriend – leering over him, wolfed out, while Danny was bleeding out, and then “Miguel” snarling, charging in from out of nowhere and taking him down.

He’d asked for the bite then.

Derek had looked at him long and hard, making Danny feel exposed, even weaker than he felt from the blood loss.

Derek bit.

Danny still felt weak.

So, he chose a university in England. 

He’s okay now. He has friends here who know nothing about kanimas and alpha packs. He has enough control that he’s okay on full moons. He doesn’t run amok in Kent or mutilate little old ladies. 

It’s months before he senses him in the city. He follows the unmistakable pull through the streets to Trader Vic’s where the trail stops. He wonders if Derek is playing a joke – a gay bar? Derek’s sexuality is still an item of contention. Stiles is convinced Derek’s team switched when he became alpha. The Hale line was a matriarchy, and Derek was never supposed to be alpha. 

The real reason Danny left, buried under all the other reasons, is that he doesn’t want to be an experiment. Not now. Not ever.

But he goes in anyway. And there he is. Derek Hale is drinking a piña colada.

His head jerks up and his eyes snap to Danny’s immediately.

Danny turns and runs. 

Derek catches him. Of course he catches him, on some rooftop garden in Soho. They face each other like a standoff.

“You left.”

“I told you I would.”

And then Derek is all over Danny. His hands are everywhere. The kiss is frantic and sloppy, and for a few minutes Danny gives in and runs his hands through Derek’s perfect hair.

But it’s not right. So Danny steps back, and lets his fist sink into Derek’s jaw. For once, Derek seems surprised.

“What was that for?”

Derek knows the answer. He strikes back. 

Danny knows that he deserves it, too. He holds his ground. 

They trade punches. Derek sweeps his leg, trying to topple Danny. Danny jumps out of the way and goes for Derek’s throat. Derek throws him across the roof into a stack of empty flower pots. Danny slams Derek’s face into a patio table.

They face off again, panting.

“You came to London.”

“You didn’t come back.”

It becomes a dance of fighting and fucking. Kisses become bites. Punches become gropes. They want each other. That isn’t the question between them. The want burns in the pit of Danny’s stomach, but there’s something else. It’s not anger, not anymore. No, he wants to dominate Derek. The feeling isn’t foreign to him, but it’s never been like this.

“Maybe I was going to.”

Finally, he presses Derek face first into the wall near the roof’s entrance. Whoever owns this garden could walk out at any moment, especially given the noise they’re making. But Danny doesn’t care.

“I couldn’t wait that long.”

Derek pushes his ass back. Danny yanks down his jeans. 

There’s no lube. Danny’s no boy scout. They do the best they can with saliva. 

It’s not tender. It’s a claiming. 

Danny is taking back his fear. Taking back all his weaknesses and everything he’s been running away from. He is owning them. Owning the werewolf never meant to be alpha. Owning Derek. 

They are more animals than men as they fuck.

Danny pulls Derek’s hair, wrenching his head back. He sinks his teeth into Derek’s shoulder. Derek braces himself with one arm and uses the other to grab Danny, clawing at him, urging him to go faster and harder. He needs this as much as Danny does.

His claws come out as he grips Derek’s hip with one hand, his shoulder with the other. Derek is halfway in his beta form, growling with pleasure. 

Danny stops fighting and lets go. Derek lets go too.

Release is a catharsis.

They walk back to Danny’s place beside each other as equals. A piece of paper flies toward them in the wind. Danny snatches it from the air. It’s a menu for Lee Ho Fook's.

Danny throws back his head. The sound he makes is a mixture of howl and laughter.

* * *

**18**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** could be seen as dubcon  
 **Inspired By:** Little girls, this seems to say, never stop upon your way, never trust a stranger friend, no-one knows how it will end! As you're pretty, so be wise! Wolves may lurk in every guise! Now, as then, it's simple truth, sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth! By Charles Perrault (1697), quoted in The Company of Wolves (1984)

Stiles runs.

It's stupid. You don't run from werewolves--it's one of the first lessons he learned.

But, the fear has him.

The moon is full overhead, lighting his way through the dense forest, but, in the end, he trips over a root, sprawling inelegantly in the dirt and fallen leaves. A chill wind sweeps across him, bringing with it a howl.

Too close.

Panting for breath, he grabs the tree, uses it as leverage, pushes himself to his feet.

It's too late.

The wolf comes out of the brush ahead of him. It circled him.

He was never going to get away.

Derek's in his beta form barely, shoulders heaving, face twisting. Red eyes lock on Stiles and he stumbles backwards, hands held out in useless placation. Fangs flash and he yelps.

Derek grins around those fangs, licking his lips, and before Stiles can think of a way out, he lunges and takes them both down to the ground.

Grunting in pain, Stiles struggles but it's hopeless. He's going to be devoured by the wolf.

Straddling his squirming hips, Derek yanks the sides of his red cloak open and leers down at the pale, sweat slicked flesh, the cock, half-hard from fear and adrenaline. Stiles is naked, ready to be taken, to be the wolf's well-earned reward. Hands pin his chest down, knees trap his legs, and Derek slides backwards, leans down and devours his cock, swallowing to the root.

Stiles yells in pleasure, bucking as best he can, dick hardening all the way and already leaking. One clawed hand wraps around the base, pumping his dick into Derek's mouth where the fangs are a threat, the mouth is a hot suction, the throat a velvet trap.

Beating on the hard ground, trying to get away, to get closer, to get more, Stiles squirms, but he's prey caught by the predator and he's at the wolf's mercy. He wants to thrust up and up and just come, but the hand tightens, preventing his orgasm, and the claws on the other hand grip his hip, scraping just enough to make him shiver in fear.

And pleasure.

The blow job goes on and on and the moon shines down and Derek is the wolf, hungry, fierce, deadly.

Finally, the hand around his dick slips to his other hip and he's lifted. His cock thrusts down Derek's throat and his hands flail out, finding the longer hair of the werewolf, and he digs in and yells as he comes so hard he whites out for a split second.

Panting harshly, Stiles opens exhausted eyes to see Derek, cum dripping down his chin, red eyes so incredibly hot, rise over him and fling his head back as he howls his victory to the moon. He watches as Derek tears open his jeans and carelessly wrap his clawed hand around his hard, red dick, jerking it hard and fast. It's slick with pre-cum, the glide easy, and Stiles can tell he's close as he growls and pants and shudders above him.

His own cock has softened, laying spent along one thigh, and he waits, breathless.

Derek howls again and comes in spurts across Stiles' belly and dick. After nearly a minute of shuddering and coming, the wolf drops his head, his hand slows, and when their eyes meet, his are green again.

The werewolf is gone. 

"Little Red Riding Hood, really?" His lips twist in amusement.

Stiles grins back and plays with the edges of his red cloak. "Well, the big bad wolf always wants to eat me at the full moon."

Derek collapses next to him, tugging him half across his chest, wrapping the cloak back around him. "You and your games."

"Like you mind," he retorts lightly, playing with the drying cum on his stomach.

Leaning down, Derek kisses him. "Yeah, yeah."

"Such a sweet talker."

"That's you. I just lurk and hunt and pounce. I'm pretty sure you don't mind either." Derek leers and Stiles laughs and rolls on top of him because the moon is still full and the wolf is just beneath the surface and Derek can get it up even faster than he as a horny teenager can.

* * *

**19**  
 **Pairings:** Stiles/Peter – although you can read it as Stiles/any male alpha  
 **Warning:** A/B/O tropes – manly Alpha/Omega, mate runs or hunt, self lubricating, knotting, biting, hints of Mpreg. Non-Con, Angst.  
 **Inspired By:**  
I hear they're getting closer  
Their howls are sending chills down my spine  
And time is running out now  
They're coming down the hills from behind  
Within Temptation – The Howling

The dust along the trail was cold beneath his feet, chilled by the early spring air. Stiles dodged trees and roots in his race to distance himself from the hunting howls behind him. Feet cold and cracked from pieces of forest debris on the path, made him wish he had shoes. But there was no time for things like shoes, in his haste to get away from the wolves.

He knew it was the night of the blue moon, but Stiles was too worried about his father to stay hidden underground with the others. Only the adults were allowed out on the night the wolves roam the hills, but his father was all he had left, he couldn't lose him.

The wolves never attacked the village in the past, but before he could finish dressing in warmer clothes, Stiles heard the howls and the sounds of destruction as the village was besieged. In a panic he took off to the forest.

Narrowing missing branches from the dense forest in his panicked rush, Stiles ran until he got to the end of a clearing. Coming to an abrupt halt, he was torn between continuing and losing the cover of the trees, or finding a place to hide. Before he could make a decision, Stiles was knocked off his feet by a larger body.

“Hello little omega. What's a sweet smelling thing doing in the woods tonight? Don't you know it's not safe to be in the woods alone?” his attackers eyes flashed red, “There's dangerous alphas on the prowl.”

“I am not an omega, I am human,”Stiles heart beat like a rabbit's in his ears, “Just a normal human, that would really like not to be eaten please.”

The alpha's chuckle was deep and throaty, “Oh little omega, how you amuse me. You might be able to pass as a human to others, but I can smell your untouched ripeness.” Lowering his nose into the crook of Stiles's neck, the alpha took a deep breath, followed by his tongue tasting Stile's salty skin. 

“I swear, I grew up in the village. I am human.”

Pulling both hands together above Stiles head with one head, the alpha used his free hand to slice open Stiles's red shirt with a sharp claw. “ I have heard of human villages trying to raise omegas like humans, trying to breed the wolf out of them. Don't worry, an omega's body calls for the touch of an alpha, you will enjoy yourself little omega.”

“That sounds creepy, there is no way I'll...”Stiles dropped his complaint with a whine. A hot tongue dragged across his sweat soaked skin.

“There that beautiful blue glow of your eyes,” the alpha said with another chuckle, hand traveling lower on Stiles body, “as much as I would loved to enjoy every curve of your delicious body, I need to claim my prize before another alpha comes to challenge me.”

“Wait! What? Oh god, you just tore through my pants.”

“Yes, it makes it easier to mount you without bothersome clothes blocking my way.”

Any smart retort stilled on Stiles lips, when he felt the pressure of the alpha's finger at his entrance. “How can you say you're not a omega when your body makes itself wet and ready for me?” And, Stiles knew it was true, he could feel it, even hear it, the slick sounds of the alpha's fingers working him open to easily. His body _humming_ for the alpha to mount him and fuck him like a broodmare, no like a bitch in heat.

“That's it little omega, spread your legs for me, let me breed you. Good boy,” wasting no time, the alpha was upon him, driving deep, forcing all air to leave Stiles's lungs. Pulling Stiles head back by his hair, the alpha forced Stiles to bare his neck, causing him to stare up at the sky. Focusing on the bright blue moon, as the alpha fucked him, Stiles tuned out every twisted term of endearment the alpha called him, every hard thrust into his body.

The moon smiled down at him offering no compassion as she bathed them in her radiance.

The feel of the alpha's swelling knot brought Stiles back to himself, before the telltale pinpricks of the alpha teeth on his neck. The feel of his blood flowing into the alpha's mouth, made Stiles dizzy with unease. Tipping his head back the alpha howled his mating to the pack. Answering howls were echoed across the hills.

He was mated now, blessed by the moon and pack, to an alpha he didn't know.

* * *

**20**  
 **Pairings:** Scott/Stiles  
 **Warning:** canon divergence au  
 **Inspired By:** _“I spoke to Giles. He says I'll be okay, I just have to lock myself up around the full moon - only he used more words than that - and a globe.”_ \-- Oz the werewolf, _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_

 

It starts with a wolf bite.

\-- Well, no, Scott and Stiles' friendship started way before then, back in third grade after an incident with a worm, a Fruit Roll-Up, and a very upset substitute teacher --

But the change starts with a wolf bite.

It changes a lot of things.

**

"Deaton knows what I am," Scott announces while he and Stiles walk to school.

Stiles nearly trips. " _What_? How'd he know? What does he know? What'd he _tell_ you?"

Scott laughs. He looks way too happy for a guy that was bitten by a wolf two weeks ago. "Thinks it was an omega, a lone wolf, passing through. There was a pack around here a while ago but now -- they're not. So, probably, some random dude in wolf form accidently bit me, then took off."

" _Douche_ nozzle."

"Right?" Scott shrugs. "He explained it to me -- basically, I should lock myself up during the full moon. He was kinda cryptic in his explanation -- and used a globe, which was weird--"

"When isn't he?"

"--Then said I could use one of the kennels if I need."

"Okay, so full moon, we keep you safe."

"I think it's to keep everyone else safe." Scott smiles fondly.

"Right. That too. What's the globe about?"

Confusion lines Scott's adorable face. "I have no idea."

Stiles snorts. "Shocking, coming from Deaton."

**

"You might not want to watch," Deaton says. Scott is locked up in a large kennel, naked, hunched over in the middle of it, breathing heavily. "Perhaps if you step outside for a while."

"No." Stiles doesn't care what he sees, there is no way he's leaving Scott while he goes through this.

It's horrifying to watch; Scott's skin peels away as fur appears, hands turning into large paws, face morphing into a snout with long, sharp teeth. The sounds are worse, like it's causing him so much pain. It rips through Stiles over and over.

Until finally it's done.

Left in the cage is a large black wolf -- four legs, fur, the whole bit. Deaton moves towards him; he growls low in his throat, snapping in Deaton's direction.

"Scott, don't be a dick," Stiles says, getting closer.

Scott notices Stiles and whines sadly. He paws at the cage, as if trying to get out, but not angrily like he's going to attack. 

"Hey." Stiles kneels, metal separating them. Stiles isn't afraid. Scott _knows_ him, and tries to lick him through the cage.

"Interesting," Deaton says.

"What?"

Deaton smiles. "I will tell you both at a better time." With that, he vacates the room, leaving Stiles to sit with Scott-the-wolf through the night.

**

"You're sure you're okay?" Stiles lingers in Scott's room the morning after the moon. He seems fine, if somewhat tired, though extremely jittery and unusually nervous. It makes sense, given what just happened, but something's off. "Dude, what is it?"

Scott looks unsure. "It's just -- I _knew_ you. You kept me sane, kept me feeling completely like an animal."

"You're not. You're just a wolf."

"Right there -- you've been -- you're just so--" Scott gestures helplessly, looking frustrated that he can't explain. After a moment, there's clarity on his face. Stiles knows he's figured out how to say it.

Except he doesn't _say_ it. He leans in, kissing Stiles.

Stiles makes a surprised noise, but Scott doesn't relent. Stiles wants this, he's felt it for a long time, but he didn't think that Scott -- well, Stiles knows they're only buds. 

Except maybe Stiles has been wrong.

Scott pushes Stiles to the bed; he goes easily because he can't _not_.

It's fumbling and uncoordinated, hands everywhere, elbows giving sharp jabs, teeth clacking together. It's so fucking perfect Stiles can't believe it. They end up finding a rhythm with kissing -- wet, slick, wonderful -- while grinding their still-clothed bodies together. Stiles doesn't even get his hand on a dick, or one on his, before he's coming in his pants. Scott sniffs the air, growling, making Stiles laugh. Scott grins, but ruts down hard, shuddering, and comes in his shorts.

They press together on the bed, catching their breaths. Stiles' mind won't stop: what if things turn weird -- weird _er_ , maybe Scott hadn't meant for -- then there's the --

Stiles sits up suddenly. "Holy crap, I know what the globe is about."

Scott laughs happily, pulling him back down, and Stiles _knows_ this is another change they'll get through.

* * *

**21**  
 **Pairings:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Warning:** Psychopath AU  
 **Inspired By:** Monster by Lady Gaga (with a little bit of Teeth by Lady Gaga).  
Look at him, Look at me, That boy is bad, And honestly  
He's a wolf in disguise, But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes  
That boy is a monster

Derek may be a werewolf, but Stiles?

Stiles is a fucking monster. 

Derek loves him so much he wants to rip him to pieces and lick them all clean, sometimes. 

He wonders how he got so lucky. So lucky to have this honey-eyed boy with the angel’s face and the devil’s own mind. This clever, scheming, devious boy who tells Derek all the ways they are going to pull Kate Argent and her family apart at the seams, watching them bend and break, bleed and bruise, until nothing is left but sinew and marrow. 

God, he just want to fuck Stiles’ brains out. 

And he does. Derek fucks Stiles, thrusting in without stretching him, without any prep at all and Stiles hisses and curses and demands Derek goes harder, goes faster. 

Derek does. 

Sometimes Derek doesn’t know who he is anymore when he’s not with Stiles. When he’s not fucking Stiles or being fucked by Stiles or sucking Stiles off or whimpering as Stiles licks at his hole, teasing Derek for hours. 

His favorite is when Derek’s on his back and Stiles drives into him - hips snapping, flesh slapping. Stiles looks down at Derek with half-lidded eyes and smiles. When the light hits Stiles’ eyes just right, they reflect like a wolf’s - amber and gold, glinting in the half-light. It makes Derek’s stomach clench and his chest tighten. This human boy with his fragile skin and breakable bones is more of a wolf than Derek’s even been. Than maybe Derek will ever be. 

Stiles doesn’t have a tragic story. Doesn’t have a tale of woe or sorrow. 

Like Derek, he was just born the way he was. All sharp edges and hard corners with no mercy or softness in him. 

“Show me your teeth,” Stiles says, voice fucked out and low as he thrusts into Derek. Derek keens as Stiles keeps hitting that spot in him hard, almost too hard. But he can’t ask Stiles to stop, won’t ask Stiles to slow down or go easy. 

Stiles wouldn’t do it anyway, even if Derek did ask.

Derek lets his canines extend down, low and razor-edged. He runs his tongue over the pointed edges, teasing them a bit, pressing the meaty flesh against the tip. 

“Show me how sharp they are,” Stiles orders and Derek bites down on his own lip, blood spilling out and across his chin. 

Stiles leans over, bending Derek in half and laps at the hot-red liquid on his face, lapping it up. “What sharp teeth you have, Derek.”

Derek snaps his teeth down on Stiles neck and feels salty blood run out and over his mouth. Stiles grunts in pleasure, hips pistoning harder “All the better to bite you with,” Derek rasps and Stiles chuckles before pressing his stained lips to Derek’s - smearing blood over their faces. Stiles reaches down and grips Derek’s cock in a too-tight grip, pulling on it roughly. Derek drops his head back on the pillow with a ‘thunk’, exposing his neck to Stiles. He noses across Derek’s jugular, tongue darting out wet and hot against it, nipping at the flesh. Derek comes with a shout and Stiles fucks him roughly through it. He pulls out fast, and Derek can’t stop the whimper at the sensation, but the Stiles is jerking himself off and coming wet and sloppily all over Derek’s chest. 

Derek can’t stop himself from sitting upright, yanking Stiles hard, pulling him close. “Let me bite you,” he pleads against the soft skin of Stiles neck, where his pulse is hot and fast. “Make you a wolf.”

Stiles chuckles and kisses Derek on the temple, looping his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “I’m not quite done being this kind of a monster yet.”

* * *

**22**  
 **Pairings:** Stiles/Derek, Stiles/Stiles  
 **Warning:** Attempted (thwarted) non-con, violence  
 **Inspired By:** "I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I take the words. I scatter them in time, and space. A message to lead myself here." ~Rose Tyler, "The Parting of the Ways"

 

Stiles studied the long slashes of paint across the front door of the old Hale house. He guessed this answered the question of whether the ubiquitous BAD WOLF graffiti tagged around Beacon Hills was actually a reference to the Sourwolf himself. Could a message be clearer?

Either someone’s a serious Doctor Who fan, or it’s the graffiti-equivalent of rapping Derek’s nose with a rolled-up newspaper. _Or_ , the secret geek part of himself chortled, _My future self is sending me a message about Derek Hale_. It amused him that he didn’t immediately discard this as a possibility.

~

“How stupid are you, Stiles???” Stiles glared at himself, pacing in agitation. “What the hell were you thinking? What part of *BAD* in *BAD WOLF* did you not understand? You almost ruined EVERYTHING!!!” 

~

It was a Derek Hale Stiles had never seen before – a feral creature, uncontained and unrestrained – the antithesis of the tightly controlled Derek who held his inner beast in check. This creature’s primal goal was to feed its basest instincts – and now razor-sharp claws pinned Stiles to the muddy ground, cold snout sniffling into his groin. A slow growl emanated from deep in the were’s chest as it crouched naked over Stiles, its oh-so-canine cock extended from its sheath, dark pink with a hint of swelling at the base. This was it, Stiles was convinced – the significant moment in time that all the graffiti was pointing to, the moment Derek Hale transformed into the BAD WOLF. Stiles had to get this right. Something was riding on this moment – enough to send a desperate message across time and space that only Stiles (and Rose Tyler) would understand.

Stiles ceased his struggles and lay back in the mud, acquiescing to Derek’s feral urges. He raised his chin, baring his throat to the beast, and pulling his hands back in surrender. What human part remained of Derek Hale grinned savagely.

A spray of flames shot through the darkness, close enough that Stiles could smell Derek’s pelt singeing. _What the fuck?_ The wolf snarled, backing slowly, facing off against the unknown intruder. A dark figure in a trenchcoat and a welder’s helmet approached through the twilight, wielding a flamethrower. “Bad Wolf!” the stranger shouted. “Bad Wolf! No cookie for you! Go home! Don’t make me put on the cone of shame!”

The beast cringed and backed away, snarling in frustration at the flaming torch. It reached the trees and loped off into the thicket.

~

The explanation came soon enough. “You let him take you when he’s out of his senses, out of control,” this older, stronger, sadder version of Stiles explained. “It’s… brutal. He’s tormented by the guilt. He pulls away from everyone, eventually just disappears into the bush, living wild. The pack is a wreck without him. He’s lost his trust in his wolf.” Older Stiles slumped in despair. “This is the pivotal moment, everything hinges on tonight. He realises he wants you, realises he can’t risk having you. It’s over before it’s begun.”

“So you came back in time – how, even??? – just to tweak the timing on when you get laid?”

“Exactly that. Your future – Derek’s, the pack’s, MY whole future – comes from what happens here tonight. I’ve worked over a decade for the chance to correct this moment. And YOU – you nearly blew it! Fucker.”

Stiles sat up. “But it’s good now, right? You fixed it – you could have just stopped him, you didn’t need to play this whole “Bad Wolf” game with me.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I thought you'd get it, obviously. Just… let him come to you. He will, in his own time, controlled. But… meanwhile…” He eyed Stiles speculatively. “It’s been a lonely wait?”

“Um… oh! Yeah?”

Stiles ohmphed back into the ground, Stiles’ mouth licking into his needily. Stiles’ hands grasped at his clothing, trailing heat as they wrestled off the offending garments. “Let me show you a few things you’ll pick up in the next few years…” A thick cock presses up against his, slick with pre-come, and Stiles grinds up into it as, with a twist, an almost-familiar hand works them efficiently and knowingly into an explosive release. 

As Stiles recovers under slow, teasing kisses, he resolves to consult with Lydia ASAP about this conclusive disproof of his time paradox theories.

* * *

**23**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Inspired By:** _"Inuit call raven a "wolf-bird", as it cooperates with wolves – react on their howling, show them location of possible pray while wolves follow the raven's voice."_

A howl echoes between the tree tops. It's a mournful sound, full of longing and sadness. The wind carries an answering call to the wolf in the meadow, the caw of a raven high up on a tree overseeing the land and keeping watch. They live a solitary life, the wolf and the raven, roaming the wild together, hunting, playing and sleeping together, away from their brethren - for they are their brethren only in form. 

***

The raven hops forward, head cocked to gauge the wolf's reaction, then darts for the wolf's bushy tail. It caws in triumph, dark fur falling from its beak. It goes for the left ear then and the wolf whips around its head in an instant, catching the bird between its teeth. The raven squawks in outrage, wriggling until the wolf lets go. The raven fusses with its coat, making indignant sounds until the wolf gently nudges its muzzle against the raven's head, tongue darting out to help soothe its little friend's ruffled feathers. The raven subsides and nestles itself close to the wolf's side. The wolf curls itself more closely around the small body and closes his eyes.

The absence of the ambient sounds of the woods wake the raven and it raises its head toward the sky, the black of its eyes bleeding into amber as the moon edges into the path of the sun and paints the meadow in an eerie twilight haze. The raven's small body begins to elongate into human limbs, losing beak and claws until a man lays on the grass, naked and pale among a bed of black feathers. 

The man blinks and reaches blindly for his wolf, but the wolf is no more. Where there was fur the man's hand encounters smooth skin and a human face. The eyes are still the same: the eyes of a wolf. They were green once, with a starburst of golden brown in the center. That was a long time ago, before they were wolf and raven. They had names once, too: Derek and Stiles.

"Derek," Stiles whispers, voice a rusty croak, broken from disuse. 

Derek holds Stiles' face between his palms, thumbs brushing along the faint black markings along his cheekbones and temple. "Is this real?" he asks and it comes out low like a wolf's growl.

Stiles shakes his head in a daze. "I don't care." He grins, mouth stretched wide and eyes alight with joy. "I don't care," he urges, clutching Derek to him, arms winding around Derek's body, holding him as close as he possibly can. He presses his face into the side of Derek's neck, mouth open and greedy for the taste of Derek's skin. So long, it's been so long. 

Derek mouths along Stiles shoulder, nuzzling the downy black feathers that run up into his hairline. "Missed you," Derek whispers into Stiles' skin, hands careful on Stiles' body as if he could still crush him like the bird. "Missed you so much." 

They kiss and kiss until the ache in their lungs force them to part for a single breath. The grass cushions them as they sink to the ground, bodies wound tight, mouths wet and hungry. Stiles buries his hands in Derek's hair and wraps his legs around Derek's hips, urging him closer, hips moving and pressing until they lay gasping and grinning together in joyful exhaustion.

The shadows shorten and light edges into the meadow as Derek reaches for Stiles again, bringing him back into Derek's arms. A sharp pain in his biceps makes Stiles wince, and they stare in unison at Derek's hand on Stiles' arm, a drop of blood welling from Stiles' skin, as Derek's fingernails one after another lengthen and curve into claws.

"No," Stiles whispers, anguished, as Derek snatches back his hand. "Not yet, not yet. Don't go, please, Derek." Stiles' plea fades into a croak, the transformation robbing him of his voice first. Derek's body slips from his hands and Stiles watches in dazed horror as Derek crouches low to the ground, brown fur starting to cover his arms and shoulders and running down his back, swallowing up his human skin. Derek whines, an animal sound coming from his still human mouth. 

Stiles feels his own shift take hold, body morphing and bending itself into a different shape. The feathers itch and sting like a million paper cuts as they grow in. He blinks with human eyes one last time and opens them as a raven once more.

* * *

**24**  
 **Pairings:** Allison/Scott  
 **Warning:** nonexplicit consent, breaking and entering  
 **Inspired By:** “Wolves are gentler beasts then they're given credit for.” - Wolf Hunt by Gillian Bradshaw

Allison goes to Scott’s house. She climbs to his window, slowly, carefully. How like a werewolf to leave it unlocked, arrogant in their belief that no human can match their feats. Or scale walls to reach second story windows.

Scott’s asleep, and maybe she smells familiar, but he doesn’t wake, not even as she slides down the sill to stand firmly in his room. Her feet coast across the floorboards, the squeaky ones memorized in happier times. 

She’s without weapons this time and if feels oddly vulnerable to be standing in front of some...one capable of killing her. So easily. 

She knows by now. About Kate. About Gerard. About what she herself was-is capable of. She is in the process of redefining the word monster. 

She spent the summer training with her father. Her hands carry a hundred small scars from the knives she has come to favor and she moves with a hunters silent step now: a smooth rolling motion front the heel through the ball of the foot. 

She can take down both man and beast, and she shouldn't scared of the boy in front of her still sleeping soundly. Although, she supposes the word boy is inappropriate. Scott has grown, blossomed, long before thus summer. He is already well on his way to being a man. 

She wants to touch his face so badly, just to know that this is real. Her hand hovers indecisively between them. Between one breath and the next, Scott’s brown eyes open. 

Or maybe they’ve always been open. But he smiled unself-consciously. Easily. 

Allison feels the corner of her mouth lift in response. It's wordless this thing they have, but it doesn't need words. It feels sheltered here, a peace made only in the night. Finally, she lets her palm rest against his cheek, before her fingers thread gently into his hair. 

His fingers find her waist and it makes so much sense to kiss him. The warmth of his mouth and his fingers on her skin feel so natural. They only stop kissing long enough for her to remove her shirt. 

He fumbles his over his head and she tackles them to the bed, a laugh low in her throat. He cushions their fall, laughing on his own behalf. It’s so easy, the two of them together. 

She still knows where he keeps his condoms and she pulls one foil packet out as he fumbles with his pants. She rolls it onto him quickly, hands graceful and sure. They share this the two of them.  
He balances her for that first thrust, sweet and tight and somehow perfect. She rides him like she’ll never get another chance. Or maybe that this is the first of many chances. Many late nights and lazy early mornings. 

They match now the two of them. They can both be violent, both be gentle, both be vicious, both be anything everything. 

Humanity has long been conflated from one’s inclusion in the species homo sapiens, to one’s ability to empathize, to feel for another human being. Scott’s not human, not anymore. But in this at least, he retains just as much as she does. 

It’s fickle and fleeting, but maybe together they can hold to this ideal of humanity.

* * *

**25**  


 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** N/A  
 **Inspired By:** _ **“Little pig, little pig, let me in. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.”**_ \-- Three Little Pigs (Green Jelly) [Source](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CYwNWHZuT0)  
 ** _It needs but slight provocation to make the wolf devour the lamb._** \-- As quoted in Henry G. Bohn, _A polyglot of foreign prove_ [Source](http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Wolves)

Whoever decided it was a good idea to leave Derek and Stiles in charge of Scott and Allison’s eleven month old for the night is clearly an idiot. Derek just wants it stated for the record.

Mason starts crying the moment his parents walk out the door, and after a feeding, two diaper changes, and several games of Peek-a-boo, he’s still screaming at the top of his lungs hours later.

Derek’s ready to give up and call Scott to come back, but Stiles insists that he’s got one more trick up his sleeve as Derek heads downstairs to grab a glass of water.

An awful sound wafts down the stairs towards the kitchen as he’s putting the glass in the sink, one that’s so much worse than any baby’s cries.

_“Little pig, little pig, let me in. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.”_

Green Jelly. Oh God. Derek runs. When he barrels into the temporary nursery, Stiles is pacing, holding a surprisingly silent Mason in his arms and bouncing him to the music-- if you could call it that.

“What the hell is this?” Derek says, grabbing for the ipod and promptly turning it off.

“Hey, that’s my werewolf playlist!” Stiles cries, gently shifting Mason in his arms.

Derek ducks out of his way and starts scrolling through the playlist instead. _Hungry Like the Wolf_ , _She-Wolf_ , _Lone Wolf_. Derek rolls his eyes. _Night of the Wolf_ , _Run With the Wolf_ , _Cry Wolf_ , and then...

“Clap for the Wolfman, Stiles? _Really_?”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he says, carefully placing Mason into his crib. “And Mason obviously liked it if he stopped crying.”

Derek huffs, because it’s at least partly true. “Are you purposely trying to drive me crazy, or...?”

Stiles laughs. “Well, you know what they say: it needs but slight provocation to make the wolf devour the lamb.”

Derek’s mouth falls open, and whatever he’d been about to say vanishes from his brain in a puff of smoke.

“What?”

Stiles shrugs.

“Exactly _who_ says that, Stiles?”

“Uh, you know...” he waves his hand around, shrugging. “The ever elusive _’they’_. Very powerful force. You wouldn’t wanna mess with them.”

Derek’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “Riiiiight.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s an old Danish proverb that I stumbled across a couple years ago. I thought it was kind of cool. Sue me.” Stiles smirks.

“You,” Derek says, shaking his head, “are an idiot.”

Stiles’ grin is almost blinding as he steps forward into Derek’s space, reaching up to wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “I know.”

Then Derek is kissing him. Because Stiles is an idiot, but he’s also ridiculous and brilliant and kind of awesome. And they need to be having sex right now.

“Ahh, not in front of the baby. Scott would kill me,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s mouth, grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the room.

They barely make it past the threshold before Derek presses Stiles up against the wall, licking his way into Stiles’ mouth again. The sight of Stiles calming a baby shouldn’t be such a turn-on, but God help him, it is. He presses his entire body into Stiles, rocking his hips forward, relishing in the feeling of Stiles against him, his dick already hardening in his jeans.

“I’ll show you how a wolf devours a lamb,” he says, sinking to his knees. Stiles’ eyes widen, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest as Derek frees his dick, wraps his mouth around the head, swirling his tongue across the slit until Stiles moans obscenely.

“Lame,” Stiles says, breathy. But his eyes are closed, head tilted back against the wall, the fingers scraping against Derek’s scalp telling another story. Derek sinks lower, taking as much of Stiles into his mouth as he can, sucking and hollowing out his cheeks as Stiles edges towards his release. When he comes a moment later with a cry that should wake the dead (yet miraculously doesn’t rouse the baby), Derek swallows every last drop before Stiles is pulling him up into a bruising kiss, leading him towards the bedroom.

\--

“Just so you know, you’re banned from ever playing that werewolf playlist for our kids,” Derek says later, when they’re curled around each other in bed, the baby asleep in the other room.

Derek feels more than hears Stiles’ laugh against his neck. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

* * *

**26**  
 **Pairings:** Erica/Lydia/Stiles, references to Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** restraints/bondage, dubcon (of the heat!fic variety), fisting  
 **Inspired By:**  
"Woman's destiny is to be wanton, like the bitch, the she-wolf; she must belong to all who claim her." The Marquis de Sade

Erica eyes Derek’s flaccid dick with open disgust.

“This is never going to work,” Derek says. He heaves a diva-like sigh and starts pulling on his pants. “I just think of you more as a sister.”

Erica stares. “Well that is super-duper sweet of you, Derek, but what the _hell_ am I supposed to do while you’re off thinking of me as a sister? Spend my heats in unendurable agony?”

Derek grimaces and fumbles over to the desk and pulls out a pad of paper. “I’ll give you the number of a facilitator.”

“A facili— oh. You mean a whore.”

“No,” he says, scribbling a name. “I mean a facilitator. They help people who are related to their packmates. I used one back when Laura was my Alpha.”

He thrusts a piece of paper at Erica’s face. _Stiles_ , it says, and a phone number.

“He’s good,” Derek says. “Just tell him you’re in my pack, and you want a full-day appointment.”

Erica blinks. “ _He_?” She cocks her head to one side and re-evaluates some assumptions she’d made about her Alpha.

Derek fucking _blushes_. Well.

Erica gazes down at the paper with new respect.

*

“Stiles” is a creamy little thing with bronze-colored eyes and moles down his neck that make it look like someone spilled chocolate sprinkles on him. Derek is _never hearing the end of this_ , Erica decides through the haze of lust.

“Hmmm,” Stiles murmurs as he fastens the restraints at her wrists and ankles. “You look a little farther gone than you said on the phone. Something get you going?”

Erica swallows with a click. She’s naked and laid out flat on some cross between a massage table and a butcher board. Her cunt feels swollen, hot. “There was a…a woman in the waiting room.”

Understatement. There’d been a motherfucking goddess in the waiting room, all red hair and red lips and thighs so white they could probably replace Erica’s recommended daily value of dairy.

Stiles grins knowingly as he begins rubbing oil into his hands. “That would be Lydia. She owns the place.” He takes in Erica’s face, considering. “Actually. Would you like her to join us?”

“Um.”

“Pretty sure she’s free for the next hour. I’ll go get her.”

“Um.” But he’s already out the door. Even the thought of that woman in here is too much; Erica closes her eyes and groans into the shift. Her claws itch as they extend, and her mouth waters around her fangs.

She drifts for a moment.

“Well look at _you_ ,” she hears. “God, sometimes I think Derek picks ‘em just to please me.”

Um, what? Erica opens her eyes to ask exactly how many members of her pack have come here, but the woman—Lydia—is peering down at her thoughtfully while stripping off her bra. Her breasts have just enough weight to drop and swing when she does it, and her pretty pink nipples make Erica moan out loud.

“You like tits, huh?” Lydia looks delighted and licks her pointer like she’s going to turn a page…and then paints a wet circle around Erica’s right nipple.

“Fucking fuck _fuck_ ,” Erica gasps, arching off the table.

“Oh that’s good,” Lydia croons, and god help her, Erica is even turned on by that condescending voice. “Let’s start there. Stiles, give her a couple fingers.”

She’d nearly forgotten about Stiles; he appears on the other side of the table and slips two long fingers into her cunt. And then proceeds to…do nothing.

Erica growls. “Need more.” She’s open enough to take an Alpha knot, for god’s sake.

“Gotta pace yourself, sweetie,” Lydia says, and draws painstakingly slow, slick swirls around Erica’s nipples. Erica’s spine liquefies in a hot little stream that bottoms out in her pelvis, and it’s too much, too much, when Lydia suddenly sucks a nipple into her mouth. Erica’s first orgasm of the night goes through her like a punch.

Lydia hums proudly. “Excellent start. Stiles?”

Stiles, it seems, has slipped all five fingers inside Erica when she was coming. She dazedly watches him brace his other hand against the table, and his biceps and shoulders flex—

“Oh holy hell,” Erica whispers. That’s a fist. Stiles has his _fist_ inside her. Erica clenches around it, her whole body a sweet, throbbing pulse centered on Stiles’ hand.

Lydia leans down until Erica can see nothing but eyelashes and lipstick and _smug_. “This is gonna be fun. Brace yourself.”

* * *

**27**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** feral!wolf!Derek, a hint of non/dub-con, bestiality  
 **Inspired By:** The wolf thought to himself, what a tender young creature. What a nice plump mouthful...”  
\- The Brothers Grimm LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

 

The wolf stalks through the forest on silent feet, his muzzle lifting to the wind as it brings him the scent of his prey. His tongue lolls out and his lips draw back in anticipation. His prey is close. This hunt will soon end.

He doesn’t remember how this chase started, just the instinct to chase had been overwhelming when he caught the human’s scent and heard his pounding heartbeat. Something itches at the back of his mind, screaming that this isn’t right. He shakes his head and growls, scenting the air and looking up with flashing eyes.

There before him stands his prey. The man’s hand is outstretched, as though he is reaching for the animal; and the wolf cocks his head, confused. His mouth moves, and the wolf is surprised to understand the words.

“Derek,” the man says. “Derek, please. You need to change back.” The wolf shakes his head, the words itching over his skin and sinking deep. He shivers.

Raising his nose to the wind, the wolf whimpers. There is worry in the air, and the acrid stench of frustration and anger. But there is no fear and this confuses him. Man is meant to fear the greater predators. Why does this man not fear him?

The wolf pads cautiously to the man, sniffing deep, drawing in the smells that surround them. He growls as his own scent washes over him, a scent that clings closely to the man. Pouncing, he knocks the man to the ground, ignoring his angry protests and shoving hands as he rakes his claws through cloth, searching out their combined smell. 

Bare before him, the wolf drags his nose down the length of the man’s body. Gasping breath reaches his ears as he licks across the man’s chest, tasting him and beginning to pant as sense memories invade his mind. Something about this man’s taste, his smell, the _noises_ he’s making tickle at the back of the wolf’s mind, as though he should know --

The wolf noses at the thick, half-hard cock in front of him and breathes in deep. The scent of them is stronger here, and he licks gently until the man’s erection stands stiff and proud between them.

The man -- _Stiles_ floats to the top of his thoughts -- moans and scrambles at the dirt with bent fingers. The wolf whines when he opens his legs and the strongest scent of _them_ wafts up and wraps around him. His head darts down, and he licks at Stiles’ hole as Stiles writhes and thrusts and moans his pleasure.

“Dereks,” Stiles pants. “Derek, please. I need -- I need --” He keens when the tip of the wolf’s tongue presses past the tight muscle, and the urge to mount this man, to claim him, overwhelms him.

Panting harshly, he crawls up Stiles’ body until he feels the tip of his penis against the warm hole. With a hard thrust, he howls as he sinks in deep and then howls again, louder, as his muscles and bones crack and change and suddenly Derek is himself, a writhing moaning Stiles beneath him in the dirt. 

“Der -- Derek,” Stiles pants. “So glad to have you back, buddy.” A firm hand on Derek’s ass stops him from pulling out, and he looks down to see Stiles watching him. 

“Stiles, I --” Derek shakes his head and takes in the clearing around him. How he got here returns to him slowly, and he feels his fangs reappear when he remembers the witch and the spell she cast on them. A gentle hand on his cheek quiets the growl that rolls deep in his chest. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles reassures him. “Just -- We can -- Later. Definitely later. Can we --?”

Derek moans as Stiles rolls his hips. He’s still upset about the circumstances that led to this, but a warm and willing Stiles pushes all of that away. Leaning up, he catches Stiles’ lips in a bruising kiss, thrusting his tongue in for a taste as he starts to drive into Stiles. 

It doesn’t take long to develop a punishing rhythm between them, their moans and cries reverberating through the woods around them. Derek can feel himself getting close; and he reaches down between them, surprised when Stiles comes from barely a touch. The warm clench pulls Derek’s orgasm out of him, and he howls his pleasure to the moon.

* * *

**28**  
 **Pairings** : Scott/Stiles  
 **Warning** : Incest  
 **Inspired By** : Romulus and Remus, the Roman twins suckled by a she-wolf:  
 _"He ordered the twins drowned in the river. The water shrank / From the crime: and the boys were left there on dry land. / Who doesn’t know that the children were fed on milk / From a wild creature, and a woodpecker often brought them food?"_ -Ovid, Fasti

Stiles shivers in their wolf den despite the fur blanket draped over him. His whines bring Scott, who lies down and hooks his chin over Stiles' neck, making him sleepy. The smoothness of Scott's skin is so different from the downy fur of the other wolves. What was that word the strange half-human, half-wolf pack had taught them? _Brother_. 

*

The years pass. One day when Scott returns to their camp, his eyes have gone bright yellow and the muscles on his chest are newly massive. That's how Stiles knows.

He strokes the wolf resting in his lap to still his agitation. "You don't even smell like us now." The fire is warm enough that Stiles wears only the strip of cloth around his waist that the Hales insisted on the last time they visited. _We're teaching you to be human_. 

Scott glares. "Don't start." His feet are crusted with dirt, but the rest of him is clean, his skin a resplendent brown. "How else will I protect you when the Hunters discover we're still alive? I had to get the bite."

" _This_ is our family." It's an old argument. In spite of the danger, Stiles wants to stay with the wolves who raised them after they'd been left to die of exposure, twins cursed with the werewolf gene. Always the potential to turn. The wolf in Stiles' lap cranes her neck to inspect him, sensing the tension even though she's unable to understand the language the werewolves taught them. Stiles licks the wolf's jaw. 

"I'm joining the Hales. Come with me," Scott says.

"Go to hell." Stiles rises, pushing the wolf off his lap. He must get away, so he darts into the woods, finding comfort in the damp earth beneath his hands and feet. He's made it just beyond the stream when he realizes he's being followed. Fast as he is, he's no match for Scott now, and he's toppled suddenly, the two clutching each other and rolling on the forest floor.

Scott gains dominance and presses his teeth against the back of Stiles' neck. Beneath the scent of the Hales, Scott's old smell fills Stiles with longing. Just last night they slept in each other's embrace. He can't hate Scott. They are pack. Stiles goes slack, the fight gone out of him. When Scott backs off, Stiles gets on his hands and knees, exposing himself to signal his submission. Scott circles him, inspecting.

Stiles doesn't move even when Scott treads behind him and sniffs his hole, but when he licks, Stiles jolts. Although Stiles has watched the other wolves do this to each other, none have ever touched him there. Once begun, Scott doesn't stop; he swipes his tongue again and again over Stiles' entrance. It should be a comforting reassurance that Scott also wants reconciliation, but instead Stiles finds himself inexplicably hot all over, his cock hardening like it does when Scott strokes his thighs at night. Stiles succumbs to the urge to thrust, and he's rewarded with rougher pressure from Scott's tongue, and then the intrusion of fingers creates a hungry ache. A growling noise tells him Scott has shifted. 

He knows what will happen next, what Scott will do, but it frightens and thrills him anyway when Scott mounts him, the momentum knocking Stiles face-first onto the ground where fallen leaves and grass anchor his awareness in the smell of home. He's unprepared for Scott's first thrust, the way Scott's cock claims him, how it hurts so much that Stiles whines in supplication until Scott's movements still. Scott's claws dig into his arms, and their faces are so close Stiles can hear Scott's ragged breath. Stiles tilts his head and licks near Scott's mouth, then nips his chin with tender bites until his own body relaxes under the comforting weight of his brother. 

"Don't leave us," he says.

"No," Scott murmurs as Stiles laves his cheek.

Stiles shifts his hips then and whimpers in demand, and Scott moves into him again, fucking him slow as a growl builds in his throat. Stiles isn't scared anymore, not scared at all—he's never felt this close to Scott before, never felt this _right_. They come at the same time and Scott knots him, pulling Stiles onto his side and hugging him tight as they nuzzle and stroke one another in the darkness. Scott has mated him, and Stiles has allowed it; they both know what this means. 

Scott sniffs Stiles' exposed throat and licks, whispers, "Now I'm alpha."

* * *

**29**  


 **Pairings:** Sterek  
 **Warning:** None  
 **Inspired By:** "In the Woods with the Werewolves" by the Exlovers – specifically "I have tried to build a home inside my head. You will find me in the woods with the werewolves."

Stiles had spent a lot of time thinking about what Derek would say when he told him that he was into him. OK _technically_ he hadn't had much time to think about anything between writing term papers and packing up all his stuff for the return to Beacon Hills, but he'd never had much time for anything back when he'd been in high school and that had never stopped him. He'd mostly thought about it in the shower, and in bed….so OK, SOMETIMES he'd thought that it might not go too well, but he'd mostly imagined a good outcome. He'd dwelt on the naked aspect. He'd put a lot of time into imagining the feel of Derek's arms around him, the way Derek's stubble would feel under his lips, the sounds he'd make as Stiles trailed kisses along his jaw. He'd actually come from that alone a couple of times, before he even managed to get to the part where he'd get his hands on Derek's cock, when Derek would open his mouth and pant as Stiles used his mad skills to drive him completely wild. Stiles knew he had mad skills: no one had jerked off more than he had back in high school and the guys he'd been with in college had been very complimentary. He spent a lot of time touching himself and imagining that he was touching Derek, wondering whether Derek would appreciated the tiny scrape of nails, the same twist at the tip. He wanted to find out what made Derek feel good and get him into that fucked-out state where you're covered in sweat and come and all you want to do is snuggle.  


It had taken several months of imagining him and Derek thing to get to the point where Derek touched him back. Stiles had plenty of memories of Derek's hands on him, that wasn't the issue. He knew exactly how Derek's hands felt around his biceps because he'd experienced that when Derek slammed him against the wall, and he knew what it felt like to have Derek's hand on the back of his head from the time Derek had tapped him against the steering wheel. It was just…so, Derek tended to kind of parade himself, and who wouldn't if they had that body? It was like the guy was allergic to shirts, and Stiles had held him up in the swimming pool for two hours, he knew what that body felt like against his. But Derek…Stiles couldn't think of one single time when he'd seen Derek touch anyone that wasn't wolf stuff, either training or…emphasis, or whatever the hell he thought he was doing when he put his hands on Stiles. So Stiles was having a little trouble imagining a version of Derek that would put his hands on someone for fun, because he wanted to make them feel good. Derek just wasn't a feel-good sort of person.  


Stiles had tried imagining Derek jerking off but he hadn't got as far as he'd expected because he couldn't work out a way that Derek wouldn't just be punishing himself, and though the thought of Derek stripping his cock just to satisfy the biological need kind of turned him on in a weird way, it mostly made him a little sad. He did get some mind-blowing orgasms thinking about the hate-sex they could have, if he could get Derek to touch him in the first place, but that wasn't really what he was looking for. Stiles didn't want to put a word to what he was looking for, knew he wasn't anywhere near ready for that, but he was pretty sure that hate and rage weren't a big part of it.  


So Stiles hadn't made a move before he went to college, and he hadn't made a move at Christmas or during Spring Break. He'd made sure to see Derek every time he was in town, to send him emails (some of which Derek had even replied to!) and even the odd text. He'd like to think that Derek didn't know how Stiles had been thinking about him, but Stiles knew that he wasn't exactly subtle and that Derek had probably caught a clue at some point. He'd seemed a little softer somehow in the spring, had even texted Stiles before finals to wish him luck. Stiles wasn't sure what Derek would say, whether Derek would be interested at all but he thought that he was finally ready to speak up.

* * *

 **30**  
 **Pairings:** Boyd/Erica  
 **Warning:** none given  
 **Inspired By:** But I can’t compete with the she-wolf, who has brought me to my knees. What do you see in those yellow eyes? (“She Wolf” Falling to Pieces) David Guetta

“She has to be here, somewhere,” Derek said as they stood on the edge of the forest. He gestured to Boyd. “You go south. There’s a hunter’s cabin about two miles from here. She might’ve gone that way.”

Boyd looked into the gloomy forest. It was an odd thing, this lack of fear he had now that he was a werewolf. In his past life, he would never have dared venture into the woods alone. But though fear no longer hindered him, something else did. Something familiar. Envy.

“What if she’s hurt?” Stiles said. “I should bring a first-aid kit.”

“You have one?” Derek asked.

“Sure do.” Stiles took a step away. “Back at the house.” Derek grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. “It won’t take me more than an hour or so--“

Derek shoved him forward. “You’re the reason she’s out there, hurt and scared. _Go._ ” He glanced at Boyd. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yes.”

Derek eyed him. For a moment, Boyd could feel the rake of Derek’s judgment. He knew, of course, how Boyd felt about Erica--about her ability to change completely into a wolf. Something he couldn't do. Under Derek’s scrutiny, he slowly unclenched his fisted hands and nodded. 

The others took off and Boyd went the direction Derek had told him to go. Once he was sure the others were gone, he broke into a run, anger and jealousy, and fury at himself for both, fueling his speed. It didn’t take long to catch her scent, and it only took a moment to decide not to call for help. He wanted to see her for himself, what she had become. To understand why it was _she_ who could take the form of a real wolf, which he was denied.

The tinge of blood in the air made his nostrils flare. It sharpened, drawing a growl deep from within him as he leaped over a last log and up a rock-strewn trail. It was dark here, with only a few patches of the half-moon peeping through the trees. He didn’t need to see to know he’d found her, that she’d hidden inside the cabin he now stood outside.

He willed his heart to still. He knew she knew he was outside; she was a wolf, after all. But he wanted to approach her calmly, and not scare her off. He wanted to be alone with her, and make her tell him how she did it. She had to tell him. _Had to._

He pushed the door open, stood in the doorway. A shaft of moonlight shone through the window. Then he saw her, yellow eyes gleaming. He could smell her fear, the wariness as she waited for him to do something. Her growl was soft, but a warning nonetheless.

Boyd took another step into the room, then slowly fell to his knees. The she-wolf stared at him for a long moment, until he said, “How? How did you do it?”

She didn’t answer, but shuddered, and as he watched, the she-wolf lifted her head and cried a long, mournful cry as her body shimmered, undulating with the change. There was a cut on her neck. He watched, transfixed, his jealousy forgotten as the wolf turned her back to him, and became a beautiful, naked girl, her head hung with exhaustion as she offered herself to him. 

His cock swelled, straining for release. She spread her legs and waited, made him growl; he ripped off his clothes and mounted her, his hands dark on her pale skin as he speared her without hesitation. She threw her head back in a snarl, her body shifting between animal and girl, squeezing his cock and pushing hard against him, soft skin and fur. He sank his nails into her flesh, each thrust pounding her toward the floor but she withstood him, panting hard and arching her back up to meet him each time.

Time and place fled from Boyd’s mind. It was only he and his she-wolf bitch beneath him. He could feel his knot forming; the realization nearly knocked him from his rhythm as the skin beneath his palms shifted back to fur, and his own body began to quiver, every inch of his skin bursting as he joined his mate. 

He came then, a howl of triumph tearing from his lips, his fur dark against her pale as he plunged into her one last time, locking himself into place inside his bitch.

* * *

**31**  
 **Pairings:** Allison/Isaac  
 **Warning:** rough sex, blood letting, unsafe sex, dub-con  
 **Inspired By:**  
Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart  
drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart - Howl by Florence and the Machine

**The Fabric of Your Flesh**

It was fucked up.

But it didn’t stop them.

It was a secret, between the two of them. At first they worked hard at keeping it that way but now it was just something _they didn’t talk about_. No one. 

Not them.

Not the pack.

Not the humans.

Everyone shut up and looked the other way.

But every time Allison dragged her nails across Isaac’s chest, watched the bright red marks streak across his chest as she rode him hard in the garage while her dad drank himself stupid in the living room--it sent a thrill through her.

She wanted the marks to stay. She wanted them to be _seen_. 

She knew the wolves could smell her on him every time he returned to the loft but she wanted everyone to see him wearing her mark, her touch and her goddamn claim on him.

Isaac didn’t complain once and he didn’t even flinch when she drew blood. He didn’t shy away when she carved a swath across his skin with the tip of one of her arrows. He stood tall when she brought out the very knives she once felled him with.

He accepted her.

He fucked her everywhere she wanted, any time she wanted.

Up against the lockers in the change room after practice, forcing her cheek against the cool metal while he pounded into her relentlessly. Her skirt was rucked up around her waist and she demanded he tear a hole in her tights instead of pushing them down. 

“Just _fuck me_ ,” Allison gritted out, shoving her ass against Isaac’s hard cock. 

He did and they did and afterwards, when she held him against her so he shot into her she whispered that she would leave them on all evening with him dripping out of her. She left him standing in the locker room with his mouth hanging open.

Allison tried to get him alone in the loft, wanted to force their dangerous game further. Isaac steadfastly refused, only got as far as eating her out in the dirty alley behind the building. Even then Isaac hesitated and shuffled his feet, not wanting to tempt Derek’s wrath.

Allison grabbed his face and brought it close to her own, licking up the side of his jaw. “Just do it,” she whispered in a fake sweet way.

She could feel his unease and growing irritation with her in the way his tongue rolled over her. He got quicker and fore forceful. He tried to use his fingers to finger her but she batted it away, annoyed. Isaac frowned up at her, then leaned in and nipped quick, sending her over the edge as she humped his face.

“Now you’re getting it,” she whispered.

He wanted to try it in a bed, her bed. Allison shrugged a “why not” and waited for Chris to pass out before opening the window.

This time was different. Allison sped up, Isaac slowed down. She pushed his head down, he held her hands and kissed them. She tried to flip onto her stomach but Isaac ghosted a hand over her belly and pushed into her slowly.

He stared down at her, his mouth parted and gaze unwavering. She tried to look away, to force her hips up to meet his but he had the strength and he kept it at his pace. 

He rubbed her clit with his thumb deliberately, bringing her close and close before backing off and wringing more frustrated moans from her.

“Goddammit Isaac, just _fuck_ me, already!” Allison cried, twisting her own nipple.

“I am,” he replied calmly, then he leaned down and kissed her. A sweet, tender kiss that was too brief and too soft and too _much_.

Allison clenched around Isaac and cried out, grabbing at his body that cradled her while he came, as well. He slumped to the side of her and nuzzled her neck, held her close.

The sweat didn’t even have a chance to cool before Allison pushed him off and rolled out of bed. She grabbed up his clothes and threw them at him.

“Get out. Now.”

“I-” Isaac started but one look at Allison and he was gone, even before pulling on his jeans. 

Out the window like a whisper even louder than the sob that escaped in a moment of weakness.

* * *

**32**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** None  
 **Inspired By:** _On a hot summer night. Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?_ ~ Meatloaf’s **You took the words right out of my mouth**

“What the hell, man!” Stiles pulls away from Derek’s kiss and twists out of the sudden embrace. “You can’t just--”

“Stiles?” Derek’s looking at him like Stiles is the crazy one, like Derek walking up and just _kissing_ him is everyday shit.

“Is this a joke?” Stiles snaps, wiping his mouth.

It’s only when Derek’s face closes off that Stiles’ recognizes how open, how vulnerable it had been a moment before.

\---

“Derek said you’re acting weird.”

Stiles looks up from his laptop to see Scott sliding his window back closed. “Since when do you talk to Derek?”

Scott blinks at him, looking as confused as Derek had an hour before. After a beat, he says, “Where did you get those claw marks?”

“Huh?” Stiles reaches up to touch the spot on his neck Scott’s staring at and finds a scabbed-over wound “I don’t remember.”

Scott frowns. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

\---

After Scott makes a bunch of whispered phone calls, Lydia shows up.

Stiles endures a couple hundred Yes or No questions; some simple: “Did you take me to the Winter formal?” (Yes); some crazy: “Did Derek kiss you at your birthday party?” (No); some painful: “Where you with your mother when she died?” and “Where you with your first girlfriend when she died?” (No and Yes).

By the time she’s done she’s ghostly white.

\---

Stiles isn’t dumb.

There are pictures of events he no longer remembers taped to his walls, pictures with Derek smiling that Stiles swears must be photoshopped. He wishes the sight of them didn’t do such funny things to his gut.

\---

Derek shows up a few days later, looking at Stiles like Stiles is capable of tearing out his heart with a single word.

He knows Derek’s half expecting him to slam the door in his face. It’s tempting, but if Derek really has smiled at Stiles like in those pictures, if Stiles has _made_ Derek smile like that, well, Stiles deserves those memories back, doesn’t he?

So Stiles opens the door wider. He bares his neck and says, “Show me.”

Derek’s face scrunches up in a way that might be funny any other time. It’s not now. Then he’s sticking his claws into Stiles’ nape, re-opening the nearly healed wounds.

\---

They’re up against a tree, Derek’s hand on Stiles’ dick. He can feel Derek’s nerves in that moment, can guess at his own. This is probably his first time, though it aches that he can’t be sure. Stiles comes in Derek’s palm, with his face buried in the crook of Derek’s shoulder. Derek holds him close as he trembles, not caring about the sticky mess pressed between them.

He feels a flood of emotion as they kiss, and he’s shocked to realize the longing is all Derek’s, that empty hole he feels filling up is Derek’s. It’s Derek’s memory, after all.

A dozen or more memories stream by in a blur. The next he catches starts with soft sheets and a warm breeze floating through Stiles’ open window. They’re slick with sweat but moving lazy and slow against each other, like they’ve done this all night, like they have all the time in the world.

Like this time is to be savored.

Stiles wishes he could remember why.

\---

Derek leaves when he’s done giving all he can. He doesn’t pull Stiles into a passionate embrace like this is a mid-summer romantic comedy. He nods and leaves Stiles alone with his thoughts, with these memories that don’t feel like his.

Stiles sits on his bed, staring at the wall and sifts through them all, deciding if he is able to accept what’s in his head as truth.

\---

Derek gives him time -- a full two weeks -- before he appears at Stiles’ door again. When he does, he has a bouquet of red roses in his hand and a blank expression on his face.

Stiles lets him in, reaches out and strokes his hand down Derek’s cheek. He watches Derek’s eyes flutter shut and feels the thrill of something new growing deep in his belly.

He takes the flowers and Derek’s hand, and leads him inside.

His memories are gone and Derek’s borrowed ones playout like a movie where he is nothing but an audience in someone else’s most intimate moments.

That doesn’t mean he can’t make some new ones.


	3. Group C: With Warnings and Pairings

**33**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** rimming  
 **Inspired By:**  
"What a terrible big mouth you have!"

"All the better to eat you with!'" (from Little Red Riding Hood)

\----

The definition of their _thing_ was vague at best. Or maybe it was the exact opposite -- maybe it was freakishly specific. Because there were no proclamations or dates or time or even beds. There weren't really any horizontal surfaces. What it was, usually, was a fast fuck against an available vertical space.

There was never time for much else. And Derek had never known how to ask for anything else either. The life-affirming, desperate sex only happened because there hadn't been a need for thinking or asking. But going beyond that, taking other steps, that would mean asking for it, or at the very least suggesting it.

Derek had never been good at asking for things.

As it turned out, taking other steps included less asking than he'd previously thought. Mostly because his werewolf instincts tended to do the decision-making on his behalf at times, and sometimes it did the talking for him.

All it took, in the end, was Stiles smelling like hurt, hospital and blood. And some of it didn't even smell like _his_ blood. It didn't even smell human. It made Derek feel off, like he was looking at the world through glasses that didn't belong to him. And he hated it. The sickening smell stuck in his throat and lodged under his skin until he could no longer stand it.

He eased himself onto the bed, nuzzling his cheek against Stiles' shoulder, wrapping himself around him as if he could cover every part of Stiles with himself. Stiles barely tensed for a moment before he relaxed with a soft sigh.

They fell asleep like that. Stiles went before him, pulled into sleep quickly like he was yanked under. Derek drifted off slowly, inhaling Stiles' steadily decreasing scent of hurt.

\-----

Stiles had turned around during the night because Derek woke to wide eyes studying his face. As he blinked sleep out of his eyes, Stiles looked away. It was awkward. And yet.

The step had already been taken. It was in mid-air, hovering, just needing to touch down. They were in an in-between now, where they did things like nuzzling and sleeping in the same bed with Derek's hand pressed to Stiles' waist.

Derek followed it through. He brought his hand up to Stiles' cheek and fit their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss. It tasted like Stiles and nothing else, and Derek hummed, nudging Stiles' lips apart even further.

The hesitancy seeped out of them, giving way to Stiles’ breathy moans and his own wandering hands; just the same as always, but different all the same. That was the thing about steps: they build on the ones you've already taken. And while it touches down somewhere new, it can, by its nature, never be too far from where it began.

Stiles was still warm with sleep, pliant and easy under Derek’s fingers. He hummed, stretching under Derek’s touch, arching up when Derek wrapped his hand around his cock, moaning quietly when Derek’s thumb brushed over the head. It was like playing an instrument; plucking the right strings at the right time, feeling it vibrate and thrum under his hands.

It was so much easier than he had told himself it would be. He’d held off all this time, thinking it would be complicated and awkward. But it was so easy flipping Stiles over, running both hands down his thighs as he pulled him closer. The moan fell from Stiles’ lips with no effort and his own mouth pressed biting kisses at the small of Stiles’ back as if it’d never done anything else.

He spread Stiles open with his hands. They stilled until the world seemed paused. Stiles held his breath, muscles pulled tight, and it rushed out of him all at once when Derek ran the flat of his tongue over his hole. He clawed at the sheets, pushing his hips up to meet Derek’s mouth.

Stiles broke apart under his tongue, gasping for breath as Derek buried his face against him. When he pressed his tongue inside, Stiles sobbed, fingers white where they clutched the covers.

Derek wondered vaguely if he should ease up, if it was too intense and Stiles needed to breathe, but he didn’t. He fucked Stiles with his tongue until his jaw ached and Stiles was a writhing mess, giving an endless stream of broken sounds.

It no longer smelled like hurt, only come and pleasure and Stiles.

* * *

 **34**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Jackson  
 **Warning:** Forced multiple orgasms  
 **Inspired By:** Under blue moon I saw you // So soon you'll take me // Up in your arms // Too late to beg you or cancel it // Though I know it must be the killing time -- The Killing Moon Echo and the Bunnymen

“You’re going to cry for me babe,” Derek pressed against his hair, voice lisping with the way his fangs distended his lips. 

“As if,” Jackson bit between his teeth. He always started these things defiant, so sure that this time he would show him. 

Derek growled against his neck, a low menacing noise that made Jackson’s knees weak at the same time it sent a shiver of fear through his belly. Sensation was all twisted up somewhere in his spine and turned him lust-stupid instead of terrified. Derek always did screw up things Jackson’s his head until up was down, left was right and fucking him stupid into the ground was _love_. 

Jackson came the first time, thighs spread wide across Derek’s lap. The roughness of Derek’s jeans scraping Jackson’s skin raw as he couldn’t help but fuck into the too-dry grip biting his own lips because Derek wouldn’t tip his head back for a kiss. He made it fast and hard, Jackson’s toes curling, and his nails dragging against Derek’s shirt as he gasped coming all over Derek’s hand. 

Jackson panted bonelessly against Derek’s shoulder. His skin felt prickly-hot, and Derek’s hand smoothing down his back was anything but comforting. 

“Derek,” Jackson hissed. He went tense when Derek pushed his thumb against his hole. He’d been expecting it, but it still sent a jolt through him, nerves a raw mess just after coming. “Don’t.” 

“You can take it,” Derek pressed the sharp edge of his smile against Jackson’s cheek. 

“Douche,” 

Derek punished him by pressing just the end of his finger inside of him, using Jackson’s own come as slick. He arched away from it, skin breaking out in goose bumps. Derek’s other hand came around his neck, pressing his fingers against the scars on the back of his neck and holding him in place. 

“I said you _can_ take it.”

Jackson was breathing deep, shuddering breaths when Derek worked his whole finger into him, pressing his cheek against Jackson’s neck, holding him in place with his hands and body. “Ass up on the bed,” Derek directed, underlining it with a sharp bite to his shoulder. Jackson tried to squirm away, but Derek bit down a little harder and he had to still, breath coming in a sharp, unsure rhythm. 

Coming a second time almost hurt, pulled from somewhere deep inside of him and shooting out while Jackson gasped and moaned writhing face down on the bed, Derek’s fingers pressing against his prostate and pushing him harder and harder into it until he was shouting and twisting to get away. 

Jackson collapsed onto his stomach, sheets sticky and too-hot against his stomach, rolling in his own come like a dog, just trying to breathe through the tightness of his lungs. Derek ran a possessive hand over his shoulder and ribs, letting just the edges of his claws drag to leave puffy pink lines in their wake, smearing lube everywhere and it was almost comforting. 

Jackson rolled away from the stimulation, even that was too much so soon. This was not the plan, Derek grabbed his hair and rolled him back, pinning him face down on the bed and mounting his thighs. 

“Feel done yet?” Derek asked, voice rough and hot. Jackson shivered, rubbing his face against the sheets. 

“Can’t.” 

“But you will.”

He honestly thought he was going to crawl out of his skin while Derek held him wide and open, sinking in hot and hard while Jackson choked on a scream locked in his throat. He already felt raw and used but Derek wasn’t giving him a break. 

Jackson came for the third time, after Derek had fucked him through the mattress and just kept going, pushing his come deeper into Jackson, jerking him until Jackson was hard again.

“No, no, no,” Jackson cried when Derek kept going anyways, jerking him through it and right onto the other side. 

“One more,” Derek demanded, he was going to do it anyways Jackson shook his head from side to side, hiccupping softly, eyes embarrassingly wet. It _hurt_ , not like getting his shoulder dislocated hurt, but something inside of him turning over, pulling itself inside out. “I said you’d cry for me,” Derek sounded pleased and Jackson bit off a sob. 

The fourth one took a long time, his dick felt raw and he felt bruised inside, Derek’s fingers pushing him relentlessly while his body protested the slow drag. 

Jackson came, a cry locked in his throat while Derek kissed him.

* * *

 **35**  
 **Pairing** : Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning** : wolf!Stiles (temporary), bestiality, animalistic sex, barebacking, knotting  
 **Inspired By** : "By using a so-called wolf strap, any person could transform himself into a werewolf. Whoever fastened such a strap around himself would turn into a wolf. If someone called out the name of a person who had turned himself into a wolf, that person would regain his human form."  
[Source](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/werewolf.html#kolberg40): F. Asmus and O. Knoop, "The Werewolf," _Tales and legends from the circle Kolberg-Körlin_ , 1898. (translation, Polish folklore)

**The Wolf Strap**

"Are you sure about this?"

Stiles nods, teeth biting into his lip.

"I don't like it. We can test it on someone else, or get rid of it altogether." Derek paces back and forth, stopping in front of the window to stare at the sliver of moon visible in the sky.

"You know it only works on a human. It might be useful."

"It's too risky." Derek's hands clench into fists. "We've lasted this long without it."

"The Alphas won't stay away forever, and even if they do, there's always something else. And I want—" Stiles runs his fingers over the symbols embossed on the leather strap lying on the table. He crosses the room and rests his chin on Derek's shoulder. "I need to know what it's like."

The belt had been a gift from Peter on the night Derek and Stiles announced their plans to be bonded at the next full moon. Peter spoke of an old magic, one that would allow the wearer to transform into a werewolf. Derek had wanted to destroy it, but Stiles felt a hum of magic when he touched it and his curiosity won out. Days later, armed with pages of notes, Stiles sought Peter out, but he was gone.

"Everything I've read says the change is temporary." Stiles tugs Derek's hip, turning him around. "Derek, I need to know what it's like."

Derek pulls Stiles close, burying his face in the stretch of Stiles' exposed neck. Their breathing synchronizes and when tension bleeds out of Derek's body, Stiles knows he's won. 

"Whatever happens, we'll be okay," Stiles says. "Just don't say my name until it's time for me to change back."

Derek takes a deep breath. "We'd better do this outside."

\--o—

The change begins as soon as Stiles fastens the buckle. His muscles bunch and expand, bones cracking as they lengthen and shift. Coarse hair pushes through too-tight skin and elongated sharp teeth cut into his lips. The magic surges through him, forcing him to his knees. 

It's agony.

He pants through it and when the transformation is complete, Stiles settles back onto his haunches. He feels heavier, more powerful than his wildest expectations. A cacophony of scents and sounds bombard his senses and his inhuman eyes flit from object to object, trying to take everything in.

He hears a shout and whips his head around, setting his sights on another wolf, one with red eyes and claws, but in half-human form. A low growl rumbles in Stiles chest. _Derek_ , his mind supplies. 

Stiles' mouth begins to water. He trots toward Derek cautiously, stretching his neck to sniff him when he gets close.

"Holy shit," Derek says, burying his hands in Stiles' thick fur. "You're a wolf."

Stiles bumps Derek's legs with his head and paws at his feet. Derek tumbles to the ground and Stiles climbs on top of him, tearing at his clothes until they lay in tatters around them. He noses between Derek's thighs, where his scent is most concentrated.

"Wait. Just—" When Derek lifts himself up onto his knees, Stiles whines and scrambles to hold his position. He needs more of Derek's scent, his taste. He licks broad stripes all over Derek's skin, along his back and down the cleft of his ass.

"Okay. It's okay." Derek presses his cheek against damp earth and reaches back to spread himself open. "Go ahead. I want you like this."

Derek's heartbeat thunders in Stiles' ears when he pushes his tongue against his hole, lapping at the tight opening until it's dripping with his saliva. 

Near-wild with his own arousal, he draws himself up and covers Derek's body with his own, rutting against his ass until Derek's body gives and lets him push inside. It's hot and tight and Stiles fucks into him with animalistic ferocity. 

Derek cries out when the base of Stiles' cock begins to swell, but Stiles can't stop. His hips jerk frantically, thrusting until he fills Derek with his come and collapses on top of him. They're tied together, but even if they weren't, he lacks the strength to move.

"God, Stiles, that was incredible." Derek's voice is wrecked. Then he freezes and asks, "Stiles? Why aren't you changing back?"

Stiles licks lazily at his face, the wolf-strap cinched around his middle. 

"Your name," Derek whispers. "Peter knew we wouldn't be able to wait until after the bonding ritual. Stiles, I don't know your given name!"

Stiles throws his head back and howls.

* * *

 **36**  
 **Pairings:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Warning:** knotting  
 **Inspired By:** "Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart, drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart… I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground" - Florence and the Machine "Howl"

It’s devastatingly hot. Stiles is sticky with sweat, splattered with blood, but he doesn’t care. He needs this, needs the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of being pressed skin to skin. 

Stiles sinks down slowly on Derek’s cock, knees denting the couch cushions, muscles still trembling from the prior exertion of running the fuck away, panic still a potent remnant in his veins. Stiles’ pulse is a dense thud under his skin, but at least it’s no longer skittering out of control in fear. He lets out a gasp into Derek’s mouth when he settles on Derek’s naked thighs. Derek kisses him, deliberate and filthy, one hand heavy on the back of Stiles’ neck, the other skimming down the line of Stiles’ back, coming to rest on the swell of his ass. 

They stay that way for a long moment, Stiles impaled on Derek’s cock, his own dick dripping pre-come on Derek’s abs while they kiss unhurried, recovering from earlier in the evening. Stiles absently rubs at a streak of blood on Derek’s jaw until it smears into his skin. Derek’s eyes are still tinged with alpha-red but they are clearing now since Stiles is pressed against him, no longer in danger. 

“How do you feel?” Derek mouths against the pulse point in Stiles’ neck. 

Stiles sighs, arches, lifts his body then sinks down again, languid, feeling the drag of Derek’s dick inside of him, reveling in the feeling of being connected. 

“Better,” he breathes. 

“Good,” Derek answers. He moves a large hand to cover the bandage wrapped around Stiles side, fingers spread. He nuzzles against Stiles’ shoulder. “Good.”

Stiles rolls his hips again, moving with more purpose, pleasure surging up his spine. Derek tips his head back, eyes fluttering closed. Stiles licks at the sweat gathered in the hollow of Derek’s throat. Derek moans, hands bruising on Stiles’ hips, supporting Stiles as he fucks himself on Derek’s cock. 

“You came for me,” Stiles stutters out on a particularly sharp thrust down. 

“Always,” Derek grunts. “Will always come for you.”

“It was a trap.”

“I know,” Derek says, trailing pointed teeth over Stiles’ chest. 

“It was dangerous.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Derek –”

“You’re mine,” he growls, snapping his hips up forcefully, punctuating his statement. “You’re mine. No one is taking you from me.”

Derek thrusts harder now, punching little gasps out of Stiles, bursts of pleasure-pain rocketing through Stiles, building in his core. Stiles grips Derek’s shoulders, pants into Derek’s mouth, drags his lips over Derek’s cheek and jaw, until he sucks on Derek’s earlobe. He feels the pinpricks of Derek’s claws in his skin and knows Derek is fighting for control, trying to banish the ache of Stiles’ kidnapping by burying himself in Stiles body, his scent, the beat of his heart.

“Knot me,” Stiles says.

It’s not something they do often, but Stiles needs it. He knows Derek needs it. Stiles has been missing for three days, locked in a room, suffering from panic attacks and from the acute pain of being separated from everyone he loves. He knows Derek has felt it too.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, gaze sharp on Stiles’ face, his own expression open and fragile. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Knot me.”

Derek pulls Stiles off his lap carefully, tips him sideways onto the couch, pushes Stiles’ chest to the cushions with a hand between his shoulder blades. Stiles lays on his stomach, ass in the air, dick hanging hard between his legs. Derek covers him, pants into Stiles’ neck when he slides back in, fucking Stiles with short, powerful jabs, his knot swelling at the base of his dick.

Stiles takes it, loves it, hisses out a string of _yes, fuck, so good_. Derek rubs his cheek on Stiles’ back and Stiles readies himself for the knot. It’s big, and Stiles sucks in a breath, squeezes his eyes shut as Derek pushes in. It burns, but Derek reaches around, jerks Stiles’ cock furiously. 

Everything feels amazing, Derek’s hand tight on his dick, the knot tugging at his rim, Derek’s balls slapping his ass on each shallow thrust, the feeling of being so fucking _full_. Stiles comes with a sob, breaking apart, arms shaking, ass clenching down on Derek’s knot.

Derek pistons his hips a few times more then he comes with a growl, filling Stiles with come. 

Derek eases them down to the couch. Tied together, Derek spooned against Stiles’ back, skin tacky with sweat, Derek’s arms draped protectively around him, Stiles finally feels safe.

* * *

 **37**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** Somnophilia (pre-arranged), accidental voyuerism  
 **Inspired By:** “If you call one wolf, you invite the pack.”

Dating Derek, in a vacuum, was by itself _surprisingly_ easy. Once he opened up, it turns out there's not a lot of bite underneath all that bark. But Stiles knew this already. _Obviously_ he did. It was all validation, vindication, and in a vacuum, it was all great. Perfect. _Fantastic_.

Except sometimes, you know, it meant his life was in danger every other full moon. (It's nearly clockwork by now, the way danger came to town in cycles. Stiles has proof of this. He has _graphs_ , dude.)

Or the fact that Derek's responsibilities as alpha of the pack sometimes carried with it duties that superseded really hot and heavy make-out sessions with Stiles.

"Do you mind?" Stiles asks, squirming beneath the full weight of Derek's body, hoping to hide his major boner underneath Derek's hips. He only succeeds in making Derek groan _just so_ , and ohmygod doesn't his werewolf hearing let him know _they're not alone?_

At least Isaac has the grace to look sorry. "I just--"

"It's been a rough full moon, Stiles," Derek says, moving above him with a sigh. He pulls the two of them to sitting positions, moving so that Isaac has a place on the couch beside him. To Isaac he asks, "Okay?"

Stiles doesn't roll his eyes, growl, or otherwise make a fuss when Isaac curls in against his alpha. This isn't the first time it's happened, and it won't be the last. It was just the way things went, and he's pretty determined to resign himself to that fact.

***

Stiles doesn't realize when he first wakes up-- he just knows he wakes up hard and horny, the last vestiges of a particularly delicious dream ebbing back into his subconscious, a stiffy in his boxers and the warm body of his boyfriend beside him. They've talked about this before, it's not something that's completely new-- once he woke up with the full length of Derek's cock buried in him, and it was _glorious_ \-- so he nudges Derek over, pressing his hips against Derek's, nipping at his skin slowly, leisurely, sucking large red bruises here and there and watching them fade in the dim of the light. 

"Derek..." he whispers, slipping his hand beneath the boxer-briefs Derek loves so much, cupping the curve of Derek's ass with his palm. Squeezing a little, as his cock presses against the flesh. As he flutters sleep-lined lashes against the back of Derek's neck, grazes his teeth against lightly salty skin. Nips. 

Derek makes a sound from deep in his throat, shifts a little, and _aha_ , spreads his legs just a tad.

_Yes._

Stiles grins.

***

Stiles realizes only when he's three fingers deep in Derek and his boyfriend starts to stir, finally mumbling "Wh't're you doin'?" in a breathless, half-whispered question as Stiles's fingers dig against his shoulders and Stiles kicks off his boxers so it hangs around his ankle. He can feel the head of his cock rubbing against his fingers, pressed light against Derek's hole, which suddenly clenches tight around him. 

"What do you think?" Stiles asks, a smirk on his lips as he rolls his hips against Derek, but Derek tenses even further, the length of his back a stiff wall where it normally becomes pliant under Stiles's touch, his breathing almost stilling in the quiet of the night.

His breathing, but not Isaac's.

Who is on the other side of Derek.

Frozen stiff, probably from having smelled Stiles's arousal and having heard what he was doing and having had absolutely no fucking idea what to do about the entire situation.

In a vacuum, dating Derek was easy.

It was dating his pack that was the problem.

* * *

 **38**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** none  
 **Inspired By:** "I'll eat you up, I love you so." from _Where the Wild Things Are_ (book  & movie)

They meet every Tuesday night for sex, Derek driving two hours down the coast to Stiles' dorm room, climbing through his window and sexiling his roommate for the night. It's rough, and they always come quickly, but then they usually go for three or four rounds before Derek leaves in the morning and Stiles collapses into bed, finally sleeping.

It starts about a week before Stiles graduated from high school, and Derek has no idea what triggers it. One minute they're bickering about what makes the best meal for a stakeout, and the next Stiles is in Derek's lap, shoving his tongue down Derek's throat. Things escalate quickly from there.

It's comfortable, it's normal, it's just like what he used to do in New York, only Stiles isn't a stranger and therefore smells… better. Tastes better, too; nothing Derek can put his finger on exactly. Just "better."

He starts to bring Stiles little things – takeout one night, a couple books he'd forgotten at home another, a very battered pin of Bart Simpson yelling "Eat My Shorts!" that he finds at a gas station between here and there. Stiles snorts with laughter, and a few more knick-knacks, past their prime and faded at the edges, make their way from dusty bins in discount gas stations to Stiles' shelf.

Derek doesn't let himself think about why until the night he brings Stiles coffee. Stiles is ensconced in an armchair of his building's common room, surrounded by laptops and the chattering of his Mythology and Folklore project partners. He takes the cup and says, "Ah, Derek, I'll eat you up, I love you so."

All with a casual smile, like it means nothing. And why should it? Derek has given him junk, never saying it came with his heart. His answering smile is brittle. He leaves quickly, though he just drove two hours.

He doesn't go back the next Tuesday.

***

Stiles is in the loft on Wednesday night. Derek sees the Jeep parked on the street and almost turns around, but he just bought milk and it needs refrigeration. No one likes spoiled milk.

Stiles looks up from the couch when he walks in. Derek ignores him.

"This is when you're supposed to talk to me," Stiles says. "See, I'm playing you, driving here. And you're playing me, telling me what's on your mind. Every thought."

Derek grunts.

"With words."

"Let's just fuck."

"Really, Derek?"

And Derek is on him, then, arms to either side, caging him in with his body. Stiles swallows, and Derek lets himself wolf out a bit, exposing a bit of fang. Red leaks into his eyes and he closes his mouth gently on the spot where Stiles' neck joins his shoulder.

"Really," he rasps out, and bites. Stiles moans, long and low, and then things happen like they always happen – clothes coming off, bodies stretching and accommodating one another, sweat and pre-come slicking their skin as they move together – and Derek thinks he can survive this, if he's careful.

Then Stiles leans up, sinking his teeth into Derek's earlobe. "You taste so good; I could eat you up."

Derek pulls out, falling into a corner of the couch. Stiles looks bewildered, his cock hard and leaking, his face flushed.

"What – why?"

"Stop saying that to me," Derek says harshly.

Stiles turns redder. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing! I just – you don't..."

Stiles stares at him. "I'm not actually going to eat you."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Not that part," he mutters.

Stiles crawls across the cushions to him. "The part where I say I love you so?"

"You _don't_." Derek looks away, but Stiles catches his chin.

"But I do." He presses a kiss to Derek's forehead. "You bring me junk you think I'll like." Another kiss. "And junk I need." Another. "And you stay." Another. "And you fuck me, too, even though you knew what I was like in high school. That part's a bonus."

Stiles pushes against him, lowers himself into Derek's lap like he did the first time they kissed. He presses his human teeth to the thin skin on Derek's neck and breathes in.

_I'll eat you up, I love you so,_ Derek thinks to himself.

Stiles smiles against his neck, like he can hear, and Derek fucks up into him. His heart is in his throat when he comes, and Stiles kisses him through it, like he can see it there, on the tip of Derek's tongue, an offering.

* * *

 **39**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** biting, dubious consent, bare-backing  
 **Inspired By:** "If only you could see the beast you've made of me, I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free,"  
"Howl" ~ Florence and the Machine

Derek is silent on the drive home. Stiles on the other hand yells, waves his hands in the air, sharp gestures deepening the bruised scent of aching flesh until Derek thinks he might snap the steering wheel in half.

Walking up to the apartment Stiles shifts to whispering about 'trust' and how 'he knew what he was doing'. The lower volume is more about the bruises ringing his neck than any attempt to stay quiet.

Derek unlocks the front door, Stiles at his heels with, "Seriously, Derek, have you heard a single thing I've said? Are you just going to stand there --"

He gasps as Derek's hand closes on the back of his shirt and proceeds to drag him to the bedroom. He pushes Stiles hard enough to send him sprawling across the bed.

Stiles twists around, his voice cracking down the middle. "Derek?"

"I told you to stay here." Derek can feel the burn as his wolf claws toward the surface. "But you didn't listen." His words start to grind around the edges, half snarl and all fury. "You really should have listened."

If Derek were in a better state of mind it would matter that Stiles tries to run, but now it sends him darting forward with a snarl, catching Stiles' ankle in an iron grip and dragging him back. He pins Stiles on his stomach.

"Derek, what are you doing?" Derek can hear Stiles' heart going rabbit fast. "Don't fight me, Stiles."

He uses his claws to deal with Stiles clothes, ignores Stiles' yelps and flailing arms. One hand between Stiles' shoulder blades keeps him in place while he reaches for the lube.

"Derek, talk to me here." Derek forces Stiles' legs open with a knee. There's a hiss as Derek gets a finger inside, the sweet scent of gathering arousal mixed with fear, hips bucking beneath his hold as he adds another. "Derek, stop --"

With a snarl Derek pulls out and with one hand on Stiles' back, unzips his fly. He's still snarling as he makes a haphazard attempt to smooth some lube on his cock. He pulls Stiles up onto his knees and thrusts in. It's not a smooth slide, but the rich scent of Stiles' helpless arousal only fades instead of disappearing completely, not that it would stop him, not now, but it helps to soothe the rage that's licking at his insides.

Derek stops once he's fully seated, still growling as he feels the tension thrumming through the body beneath him. He listens to Stiles gasp for breath, a tangled mess of bruised flesh, lust, and fear.

"-- the fuck, Derek. What is this?"

Still defiant, even afraid and smelling like bruises. Derek forces Stiles down onto his belly, pins him still with his weight and his cock, licks at the back of his neck once, twice, before biting down. Stiles yelps, pawing at the bedspread before Derek catches his wrists, biting harder with human teeth. He can feel the twitches and jerks as Stiles' panics, still fighting, because he never listens.

And Derek hit his limit when he heard Stiles scream, who should have been safe here, saw him hoisted up with the dryad's fingers around his throat. As the memory flashes behind his eyes Derek's teeth clamp down harder, angry that Stiles is still defying him.

It takes Derek by surprise when he hears it, a low moan that sounds wrecked, Stiles relaxing beneath him all at once. Stile's submission hits across all of Derek's senses, and in response his anger fades. He rumbles approval as he bathes Stiles' neck with his tongue.

"That...hurt, asshole," Stiles mumbles.

"I told you not to fight me." His wolf finally soothed by Stiles' submission, Derek is gentle coaxing him up onto his knees. He slowly pulls out and thrusts back in, is satisfied when he smells a fresh wave of arousal from Stiles. He keeps the pace slow and steady, every thrust angled to hit Stiles' prostate. It doesn't take much to send Stiles over the edge then, and Derek with him, still tasting Stiles' submission on the back of his tongue.

Derek hooks a hand around Stiles' waist and pulls him back against his chest, where he can lick and nuzzle at the bite mark that has already started to bruise.

"We're going to talk about this," Stiles manages to say around a yawn, body lax as he starts to drift off.

"Yes," Derek agrees. "We are."

* * *

**40**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** D/s undertones  
 **Inspired By:**  
 _A typical Nice Guy, the Huntsman:_  
his aim is to own and defeat me  
"Wolf," I said, "you want what I want,  
so get on your knees then, and eat me."

\---

It's easy for Stiles to slip into this skin, once everybody's gone. Filing out the door one by one, checking their phones or making plans, not at all noticing Stiles left behind on the couch, Derek keeping watch from the doorway. Stiles shakes himself out, head and shoulders, hands and wrists, thighs spreading wide now that he isn't smushed between Boyd and Isaac. His jeans are tight already, and he adjusts himself, sighing. 

Derek's return is quiet; he's still all hard lines and stiff set mouth. His nose flares and Stiles tilts his chin up, lips wet and parted. It's all Derek needs to sink into it, knees falling to the couch on either side of Stiles' thighs, hands framing his face.

Each kiss works Derek a little loser, softer. A suckle to his lower lip, a nip at the corner. Stiles' tongue light and quick, chasing the rumbling sounds Derek makes. He strokes his palms along Derek's back, slow and firm, working the tension from his spine. On one upward pass, he tangles his fingers in Derek's hair, fingertips kneading the scalp until the gel's all worked out and Derek's kisses turn fumbling and eager.

Stiles' hands slide down again, and they don't stop until they find smooth skin. He helps Derek peel off his henley, and then a hand falls to Derek's shoulder and squeezes, thumb digging into the hollow of Derek's throat. Derek's breath catches, his eyes going dark. He's hard in his jeans, but he's got a bit of a wait yet. It's Stiles who gets off first, asserting his dominance over Derek to give him an out, a way to shed the burden he was never supposed to have.

Derek takes his time, here, sliding to the floor, opening Stiles' jeans slow, nudging them and Stiles' boxers down little by little, until Stiles' shoes come off, then his pants. Stiles takes his own shirt off, shuddering once in the cool air. Derek's mouth at Stiles' groin is a nice contrast; hot and wet, his inhales long and deep, exhales gusting cool over the sticky tip of Stiles' cock.

Stiles' hands fall to Derek's hair, combing it into messy tufts (only Stiles gets to know this, how soft Derek is; his hair and skin and eyes, his voice, the sounds he makes sucking Stiles down.), scraping his nails over Derek's scalp until Derek shivers and gasps, open mouth hovering over Stiles' dick. Derek would wait forever if Stiles made him, but Stiles doesn't, sinking into the slick wet heat as he pulls Derek in.

Derek groans, tongue sliding down Stiles' cock, tracing the veins on the way back up, then the frenulum. He uses a hint of teeth at the crown, dragging them over Stiles' slit, and Stiles gasps, hands tightening in Derek's hair to thrust in hard. The surprise of it has Derek's eyes tearing up. His hands squeeze Stiles' calves and he grunts, clear signs he's ready for whatever Stiles wants to give him.

Tonight Stiles wants it hard and fast; there's been a buzz under his skin all day, anticipation of the pack meeting sparking hot, and he wants to get his first orgasm out of the way, _then_ take his time. So, Stiles gets a solid grip on Derek's hair and let his hips find a rhythm.

It's fast and messy, too much spit and no finesse, and there are times when Stiles hits the back of Derek's throat, choking him a little, but Derek can handle it. Needs the control taken from him for a little while, enough for his shoulders to sag and his back to bow. For him to breathe.

It comes quick, just like Stiles wanted, orgasm unfurling heavy in his gut, getting pulled out of him with every wet snuffle from Derek. He doesn't bother to warn Derek before it happens; holds Derek down with a firm hand, hips hitching into Derek's wet mouth, and comes with a low, "fuck," shuddering once when Derek uses his teeth on an upstroke.

Stiles has to take a minute to catch his breath, but he keeps Derek close, his stubble sharp against Stiles' thighs. Derek uses the time to mouth at any skin he can get to; Stiles' balls, the base of his dick. He's breathing heavy, too, and is undoubtedly hard in his jeans, but he's got a few hours yet before that gets taken care of, and Stiles has plenty of ideas to keep them busy until then.

* * *

 **41**  
 **Pairings:** Danny/Stiles  
 **Warning:** Alpha/Omega Dynamics  
 **Inspired By:** “A gentleman is simply a patient wolf.” -Lana Turner

**Title:** Beyond Expectations

Danny isn’t looking for Stiles, or anyone like him, when he goes to the Alpha/Omega mixer six months before Heat Week. He only goes because he is obligated to, as the unmated Alpha of the Mahealani Pack. Danny hasn’t needed the mixer in the past, nor does he need it this year. But even though he can technically afford the $50,000 fine he’ll owe the Alpha Congress if he doesn’t attend, it is truly more practical for him to go.

After all, he’ll need a heat mate either way. Why not use the resources given to him?

Danny is not, however, expecting anything like Stiles.

*****

Stiles just _smells_ right to Danny.

He can smell him from across the room and, despite his reluctance to follow it, he can’t find it in him to resist. When he finds him sitting at a table, suit jacket flung over the back of his chair and tie undone like he’s already given in to the inevitable after only 30 minutes, Danny is confused.

Stiles is so different from anyone Danny has been with in the past. He is too skinny, too lanky, too dorky, too... _Stiles-y_.

And yet Danny is drawn to him, circling him, asking him questions, laughing with him, being _won over_.

This is not what he was expecting.

*****

Six months of actually dating Stiles - something he’d never planned on doing, but is so glad he did - has revealed one relevant thing right now: he is so obviously Danny’s _mate_.

Of course, there are a lot of other things its revealed; for instance, Danny obviously has a thing for moles and geeks and Star Wars debates and and comic cons and and flailing arms and overdone gestures and nervous twitches and giant smiles and... just... _Stiles_. All of which are very important, but not relevant to the moment.

Because the moment right now is that, Danny is finally fully aware that Stiles is not only his heat mate, but his actual _mate_. And his mate is still a bit of a blushing virgin, because Danny is a _ridiculously_ patient man.

But his patience has run its course, because Stiles is spread out on Danny’s bed naked, face red with heat and three of his own fingers buried deep into his ass. His hard cock is bouncing with each thrust of his fingers, leaving a trail of cum along his abdomen and it’s one of the hottest things Danny has ever seen.

He knows his increasing need is fueled by their heats, but he’s also waited for so long. He’s held off these six months, because he knew Stiles was nervous. But now, in the full throes of his heat, Danny can take what he’s wanted, claim what is his.

“ _Danny_ ,” Stiles cries and his voice is hoarse with want. “Please. _Oh god._ Now. Do it now.”

Danny has to keep his wolf in check, has to tamp down his shift, because even though he needs this as much as Stiles, he wants to savor this first time as a man. Later, he’ll let his wolf out to play. But right now...

“Look at you,” Danny says, crawling across the bed and slipping between Stiles stretched legs, pressing him down into the mattress. “So hot, fucking yourself. So beautiful.”

Stiles whimpers, eyes clenched shut and head thrown back, as Danny lets his fingers skim across his heated skin. He skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat and the smell of lust and sex coming from him makes Danny’s wolf pant.

“Tell me how badly you want it, Stiles,” Danny says, his voice low and teetering on demanding. He presses his lips to Stiles’ chest, flicking his tongue across a nipple, making Stiles arch. “Tell me you want me to mount you, fuck you wide open, empty myself into you, _breed_ you.” The last bit comes out on a growl and Danny reigns it in. Not yet. Not yet.

Stiles whines. “Fuck, Danny.” Danny watches as Stiles’ body shudders around his fingers and _fuck_. Danny needs inside him now.

“Tell me, Stiles,” he says and lets his teeth graze over his neck. “Tell me what you need from me.”

“F-fu- _oh god_ fuck me, _breed me_. S-s-so good, Danny. Please!”

Danny lets one more growl slip when he rips Stiles hands from his ass and buries himself in deep, in one long thrust.

It is so much better than he’s expecting.

* * *

 **42**  
 **Pairings:** Peter/Lydia  
 **Warning:** past sexual abuse, PTSD-like suffering, violence, character death  
 **Inspired By:**

_The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers._  
She whips a pistol from her knickers.  
She aims it at the creature's head,  
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead. 

Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf- Roald Dahl

 

There are some weaknesses that Lydia cannot forgive, in herself or others. She loathes helplessness most of all, the hollowed-out terror of hoping somebody will come for you because you can’t save yourself, the inescapable weight of your own inadequacy. 

Everything about Peter makes her want to rip her skin off until there’s nothing left that he’s touched. The acid burn of his gaze cuts to her bones. The way it lingers over her curves makes her nauseous and sometimes just thinking about it alone in the car brings the memories clawing back up her throat and she has to pull over as she dry heaves.

It’s unacceptable. She is sick of her own fear, of her own paranoia. 

She corners Stiles before lacrosse practice wearing a strategically low-cut shirt. The boy is so distracted by trying not to look that he can’t even come up with a decent denial. She barely has to raise an eyebrow before he’s babbling about werewolves and hunters and the death-defying freak of nature that is Peter. She knows her expression doesn’t change but he slows down a bit after that. There’s a bestiary he keeps mentioning, apparently it’s digital. She’ll have to get a copy of that. When he starts repeating himself she gives him a little smile and a pat on the cheek and sends him off to practice. 

Lydia makes a detour on the way home. The Stilinskis apparently leave their backdoor unlocked. The flash drive is easy to find. The little bag of powder labeled “wolf’s bane” is intriguing so she takes it. She makes a copy of the bestiary and is only home twenty minutes late. 

The bestiary turns out to be less useful than the wolf’s bane. The purple powder is strangely familiar. Maybe it’s the color, a toxic purple, the exact shade of her favorite nail polish. 

\---

Peter finds her again. She knew he would. She had counted on it. The plan is ready. The house is empty and she’s in her bedroom when she turns around to find him perched on her windowsill, leering. He jumps down and slouches across the room toward her. They’re having a conversation but her heart is pounding so loudly that she can’t hear it. 

Peter trails his fingers down her face. She lets him. She doesn’t really remember what Peter did to her before but she’s sure this has happened. He leans forward and they kiss. She needs his clothes to be off but if he suspects anything this is over. She waits. Every touch is like being touched by a corpse.

When they fuck it’s like a penance for her weakness. She’s purging her fear by staring down into its vacant face. She strokes her hands up his arms, carefully frames his jaw, and drags her nails down his throat, all the way to his heart. He groans. She reaches for his back, playing the wanton, scratching blindly. Everywhere she can reach is covered in thin red lines before the wolf’s bane kicks in. He groans again, but this time in pain. The lines are coming in darker, turning black, and dripping a vicious dark stain onto the sheets.

Lydia climbs off him. Peter is arched off the bed, paralyzed, gasping. Lydia finds her purse, pulls out the pistol she borrowed from Allison’s house. Hopefully Allison’s dad won’t notice one missing bullet. The wolf’s bane is entering Peter’s bloodstream. She can see the black streaks under his skin and he’s making weak little noises.

His eyes follow her when she stands over him. She likes the way her finger looks on the trigger, purple nail polish just barely lined in blood. She expected it to be hard to pull the trigger.

It isn’t.

* * *

 **43**  
 **Pairings:** Lydia/Derek  
 **Warning:** underage, language, victorian era, pirates, dubcon  
 **Inspired By:** The wolf thought to himself, what a tender young creature. What a nice plump mouthful...”  
\- The Brothers Grimm LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

AU - Victorian London, 1890

Lydia awoke with a start but didn't move far as she quickly found her hands tied about her head and a blindfold covering her eyes. "What the hell?" she said, her head twisting back and forth, pulling to trying and get free.

"Hush now, you can struggle all you want but I assure you the ties will hold." Derek smirked as he watched her, and liked that she kept struggling. He knew when he seen her those months ago that he had to have her, that she was the one. The other part of him, the wolf that had such an appetite had sensed something in her and wanted him to claim her then and there, but Derek knew he had to wait for the right time. His own heart thumped as he touched her, eyes glowing red as clawed fingers easily cut through the delicate material. "You're much too beautiful to be all covered up."

The unsaid words that were inferred in what he said, made her shiver that much more. She could feel his hands on her, pulling at her clothing, pushing it around and off. The buttons of her skirt, the ties of her bustle and petticoats. All of it, slid down her legs and presumably resting on the floor, and then he set to work on her corset, popping the busque all the way down until it too fell away and he eased it out from under her and she heard it drop on a table beside the bed. Lydia was blushing as she lay tied up on a bed in now something but her underpinnings. Derek moved to her legs and started to ease her stockings down but he was even more evil this time, kissing each section of skin he exposed and Lydia bit her bottom lip but couldn't mute the soft moan that escaped her beautiful full lips.

"Please don't. Stop before there's no turning back," she begged him, trying to move away from his fucking lips and seductive hands.

But he didn't because there was already no turning back. He would just show her. His wolf wanted it's mate but Derek also wanted Lydia. She was beautiful to be sure but she was different from other girls, most of whom made him roll his eyes on more than one occasion. Pulling at the buttons and ties of her chemise, it was soon undone and her breasts were bared to him. He dipped his head over, licking across a nipple and then suckling it for a moment.

As as if he knew, or perhaps he did, his an errant hand moved down her stomach and tugged at her pantaloons. The thin material gave easily and his hand slipped between her legs. Derek smiled for she was wet for him already and fingers found her clit and he slowly teased her. He would not claim her completely this night but he would show her a taste of what could be. "God you are beautiful."

She continued to moan and pull at the ties keeping her in place. This was wrong, so wrong, but why was she not fighting it, telling him no, screaming and crying out? That's what she should do, that's what any sane proper woman would do, so what was it? The unknown, the illicit secret of it, just being naughty?

Derek continued kissing one breast and then the other, lathing attention to them both as his fingers pushed her to the edge. Rubbing and pressing against the nub faster and faster, he could hear as much as see her heartbeat increasing and could smell her arousal filling the room. He didn't care who else heard her, his lady.

"S-stop... oh god... too much... I can't," she gasped and twisted her head. thee was the faintest of white lights behind her eyelids and she cried out as her body tensed and she crumbled because of her, falling over the edge in the rush of her orgasm.

Derek knew when it started happening and when she cried out, he tipped his head back, his features changing and he howled. His wolf was satisfied, his mate was claimed.

After a few moments she slumped to the bed and smiled. "Derek?"

"Hmmm?" came the reply as he looked at her.

Lydia pulled at her wrists again. "Next time, don't tie these so tight."

Derek grinned and reached up, pulling the blindfold off of her and leaned down to kiss her. "As you wish, Mrs. Hale."

* * *

 **44**  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Warning:** none given  
 **Inspired By:**

> He holds him from desire, all but stops his breathing lest  
>  Primordial Motherhood forsake his limbs, the child no longer rest,  
>  Drinking joy as it were milk upon his breast.
> 
> Through light-obliterating garden foliage what magic drum?  
>  Down limb and breast or down that glimmering belly move his smooth and sinewy tongue  
>  What from the forest came? What beast has licked its young?
> 
> \- W.B. Yeats, from “Supernatural Songs”  
> 

The forest was dark and oppressive, save for the bright circle of tree and underbrush illuminated by Stiles’s flashlight.

“Derek?” 

Stiles had seen Derek’s iron control melt in the wake of the poison tipping the hunter’s arrow, leaving him wild-eyed and snarling. Derek’s panicked eyes had met Stiles’s for a bare second before he’d fled into the woods.

Fuck that.

The hunters wanted Derek out of control, wanted him to hurt somebody. Wanted an excuse to take him down. No way would Stiles let that happen. Even though he didn’t know how to find Derek. Or what he’d do when he found him.

Gripping his flashlight like a weapon, Stiles ventured deeper into the woods, scanning the dense trees for red eyes, a flash of bare skin, any hint of Derek’s presence. But the flashlight fell only over tangled branch and root.

“Derek?” he called again.

“Stiles.”

The growl lifted the hair on the back of his neck, so low and animalistic that it grated against his very bones. His heartbeat drummed inside his chest. Stiles’s fingers slackened around the flashlight, and it tumbled into the underbrush. It landed at an angle, shining into Stiles’s eyes. He blinked, bringing his arm up to shield his face. At the same moment, something plowed into him from the side, and he fell to the mossy forest floor, gasping for breath. Derek leaned over him, all red eyes and snarl.

“Dude,” Stiles gasped. “Are you okay?”

Derek didn’t look okay. He was still (mostly) in Beta form, but the sideburns bristling down his cheeks were thicker than Stiles had ever seen them, and the glow of his red eyes was unnerving. He bent low to sniff at Stiles’s neck, and stubble brushed against the sensitive skin of Stiles’s throat. The shock of it made Stiles jump, but Derek’s hand landed in the center of his chest, pinning him still. Derek’s mouth fell open against Stiles’s throat, fangs brushing sensitive skin.

Stiles froze. “Derek?” 

A long tongue flicked out, tasting Stiles’s neck. 

“Hey!’ Stiles protested. “I’m not for snacking! I’m – oh fuck!” The bright flash of claws was all the warning Stiles got before Derek ripped a line down the center f his t-shirt, peeling it away. A frigid blast of night air hit his skin before Derek dragged his face down Stiles’s chest, nuzzling at the skin of his belly. Stiles groaned despite himself.

“Dude!’ he protested weakly

Derek made a low sound in his throat, nuzzling Stiles’s crotch before his mouth closed over his tented jeans. Stiles could feel the heat of it even through the wet denim. More than anything, he wanted to buck up into the hot pressure of Derek’s mouth, to unfasten his zipper and _feel_ the wet heat surrounding him. But . . .

“No,” Stiles gritted out, clenching his fingers in Derek’s hair, like he had a chance in hell of dragging him away. “You don’t want this. “

Derek shook his head, resting his head against Stiles’s bare stomach. “Want,” he countered. “Always want. Stiles . . .” His fingers scrabbled against the waistband of Stiles’s pants, claws barely grazing the skin there. He tugged at Stiles’s waistband, brow furrowing in a way that might have been adorable, if it weren’t for the fangs, the red eyes, the sideburns.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispered. He reached for the fly of his jeans, and no sooner had them open, then Derek’s mouth closed over Stiles’s erection 

In retrospect, Stiles probably should have been embarrassed that he came so quickly, but it was hard to give a fuck, when Derek was lapping up his come like it was ambrosia, nuzzling into the curve of Stiles’s hip and kissing over the sensitive skin of his balls until he reached the hidden, secret place behind them. Stiles could only sob out in joy as Derek’s tongue breached him, heartbeat drumming madly in his chest. 

The world collapsed to the twigs digging into his knees, to Derek’s tongue, slicking the way inside him, to Derek’s claws on his hips, dragging him closer, to the hot press of Derek’s stomach against his back. When Derek finally mounted him, claiming Stiles with the long, hard length of his cock, Stiles could only groan and buck up into it.

* * *  
The hunters glared when they stumbled upon them the next morning, where they’d curled into the bed of clover. Stiles smiled sleepily, nuzzling into Dereks’ chest.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I owe you one.”

* * *

 **45**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** Cross-dressing  
 **Inspired By:**  
There's a she wolf in your closet  
Open up and set her free  
There's a she wolf in your closet  
Let it out so it can breathe  
\- Shakira SHE WOLF

 

Stiles looks out the window and doesn’t see anything in the darkness, but there’s a hint of an extra shadow just outside his window. He’s pretty sure that Derek’s creeping on him again. His room is lit and the blinds are open, meaning that Derek should be able to see everything clear as day. 

Stiles strips down until he’s naked and wanders over to his closet. He opens the drawer to his panties, fingers running over the silky fabric. He owns an assortment of colors, but tonight, he’s feeling sexy so he chooses the black pair. Stiles makes a show of unfolding the panties to display their shape for Derek before slipping his legs through the openings. He turns towards window to make a show of tucking himself inside the panties and admiring how the cut enhances his ass. 

The garter belt is next and he always feels a bit silly as the suspenders dangle in the air. He pulls out a pair of thigh highs and heads over to his bed. He pulls the stocking over his legs like those pin-up girls, clicking them in place, and spreading his legs a little to show off his bulge. Just because he dresses in women’s clothing doesn’t mean he wants to be a girl. 

Stiles slinks back to his closet with an extra sway in his hips. He unhooks his red babydoll nightie and slips it over his head. There’s a cascade of ruffles and frills along the front to accentuate his flat chest while the rest of the piece flows away from his body. He does a turn just to see the babydoll fan out like a fancy gown. The nightie barely reaches his crotch so he’s sure that Derek got a great glimpse of his panties. 

Then he unhooks the piece that he likes to call his “pelt”. It’s a faux fur cape that’s way too warm for this weather, but adds a bit of werewolf fun to his ensemble. Stiles rubs his cheek against the soft fur and wonders what it would be like to nuzzle Derek in his Alpha form. 

He slips into his stripper shoes and wobbles for a bit as he adjusts to the change in his center of gravity. It pushes out his chest and makes his legs look a mile long. They’re outrageous. This whole outfit is a bit outrageous, but it’s fun. The feel of semi-opaque fabric against his skin, he wonders if Derek sees the same thing as he does. Looking in the mirror, Stiles takes in his flushed cheeks, the cooler air is making his nipples perk up, and the silk against his dick is making him half hard. 

There is a distinct crack and thump outside and Stiles marches towards his window as fast as his heels would allow him. He looks down and sees Derek crouched on the ground wolfed out in his beta form and the tree branch he fell from laying beside him. 

“Got a little excited there, buddy?” yells Stiles as he leans out of his window.

Derek grunts something that Stiles can’t make out.

“The correct response is, ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.’”

In a flash, Derek leaps onto the windowsill. 

“Why, hello there, handsome. Are you here to rescue me from the wicked witch?”

“Not enough hair to be Rapunzel.”

Stiles laughs and pulls Derek in for a kiss, “Working on it buddy, just you wait.”

* * *

 **46**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles (Allison/Scott)  
 **Warning:** Character death, knotting

**Inspired By:**  
 _The wolves all cry to fill the night with hollering_  
When your eyes are red and emptiness is all you know  
‘Cause I’m bleeding out, so if the last thing that I do is to bring you down  
I’ll bleed out for you  
So I bare my skin and I count my sins and I close my eyes and I take it in  
And I’m bleeding out, I’m bleeding out for you  
from Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons  
([song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hl-fALgJyaM) / [lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/imaginedragons/bleedingout.html))

 

"What," Derek gasps, thumb leaving a sticky trail of red along your face. " _Why?_ "

Your feel tears sting, washing away the blood as you weep. Your hands are trembling, but you feel numb with grief and guilt.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips. You unsheathe the wolfsbane-drenched knife embedded deep in his heart, tug it out with all your might, and--

" _Fuck_ ," he groans as you bury the blade inside of yourself, and there are also tears smeared on his face. You've never seen him cry, not once; not even when you stood over Laura's grave, and he touched the engraved letters of her name. 

You try to smile at him as you feel your heart breaking - both metaphorically and literally. 

"I love you," you say, your blood seeping between your hands, soaking your clothes and bleeding as one with his. " _I love you._ "

*

"I want you to be mine," he growls frantically into your neck, where he's left the darkest bruises that will take months to heal.

"I'm yours," you mutter, fervent as you wind his fingers into his hair, gripping tighter with each rise and fall of your body. "Fuck, Derek, I'm _yours_."

"I know," he murmurs, inhaling the mix of him and you, the sound of sex loud in both of your ears, "but I want to _make_ you mine. I want to _take_ you."

You still, sunk down on his cock rammed deep inside you, to stare at him. "Do you mean..."

He swipes a finger under your eyelashes. " _Yes._ "

You blink, fingernails biting crescent moons in his shoulders. "Do you love me?" you ask quietly, like you don't know the answer; like you haven't said it countless times to each other by now.

"You're my mate," he simply says, his hands like hot brands on your hips, grounding you.

"Oh," you breathe, and you bend so your foreheads touch. "Okay then."

When you come with his knot stretching you wide and filling you full, tears slide down your face, and you mumble _I love you_ like a mantra over his heart.

*

"You took your father's name, but you are an Argent," Uncle Chris tells you, bending down to look you in the eye. "Now you must avenge him."

You can hear Allison crying in the hallway. Scott's trying to soothe her turmoil, but you know better than anyone the irreparable touch of loss. 

"Do it for your aunt. For Allison. For your _dad_ ," Uncle Chris says, and you nod.

"Whatever it takes," you agree.

*

You place your hand over Derek's, and you look up into his eyes. Eyes that are hazel, not a single fleck of red in them. Not a werewolf, but a man.

"I love you," you say for the first time, between the beats of your heart under your joined palms.

*

Derek's eyes glow red one last time, before they fade to black. Outside, the wolves lift their faces to the moon to howl, and it's with the ring of their mournful call in your ears that you slump over his body and, finally, close your eyes.

* * *

 **47**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Isaac  
 **Warning:** Canonical abuse, underage sex  
 **Inspired By:** _He's a wolf in diguise / but I can't stop staring in those evil eyes_ ; **Monster** by Lady GaGa

Isaac’s heard all about werewolves. In a small town like Beacon Hills, it’s all anyone ever wants to talk about. No one likes the local pack, though, even though they’ve never done anything to earn the town’s ire.

The grocery lady calls them _unnatural_ , the mechanic says _dangerous_. Isaac’s own father orders, repeatedly, _stay away from them_. 

He tells Isaac that it’s for his own safety but Isaac never believes him. It’s hard to believe that anyone who locks him up in a freezer in the basement has his best interests at heart.

His father is dead now, thankfully.

He dies a week after they meet Derek Hale for the first time at a local restaurant. Isaac was so busy staring at Alpha Hale that he accidentally bumped into one of his companions. Flushed with embarrassment, he tries to help the boy retrieve his fallen belongings when his father appears and drags him away with a too-tight grip.

Isaac doesn’t know what makes him look back but he does and just in time to see Derek’s eyes flash ruby red. 

Some people say the red is the manifestation of their evil. Others claim that Devil’s horns appear on an Alpha when his eyes flash or the air grows cold or they experience a general fear for their lives.

None of these things are true for Isaac. When he sees that flash of red, he feels inexplicably safe for a moment; like he’s back in his mother’s arms and no one can hurt him. It’s gone as quickly as it came, his father’s furious lecture driving it away, but it gives Isaac hope.

After the funeral, Isaac receives a formal invitation to visit the Hale House. It’s supposed to be a private affair but gossip spreads fast in a small town. Everyone cautions him not to go. He accepts, anyways.

He meets Derek Hale for the second time in a small library on the ground floor of the pack home. “The den,” a blonde girl – Erica – says as she escorts him to Derek. It’s meant to be a warning and he takes it to heart.

When they’re alone, Isaac asks, “did you kill him?”

Derek’s laugh is low. “That would be against the Code,” he says, lips quirking in amusement.

It’s as close to an admission as Isaac will ever get and he knows it. The idea of it warms him from the inside out. Other people noticed before, of course – how could they not, all the years they’ve lived in that gossiping small town? – but no one ever tried to do anything about it.

All the humans who cautioned him not to come and it’s the werewolf – the _monster_ – that saves him. He steps closer; too close but Derek doesn’t back away.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “for not breaking the Code.”

He kisses Derek.

Part of him wants to say it’s solely out of gratitude but he knows that isn’t true. That flash of safety he felt in the restaurant, that feeling of home he experienced when he looked at Derek, he wants that again. He never wants to stop feeling it again.

It wasn't really the plan but they end up fucking right there in the library. It’s hard and fast and half their clothes are still on, they’re in such a rush, but it’s perfect. Derek knots him and it’s too much, it hurts, but it’s a different kind of hurt; a good hurt.

Isaac slumps against him, whining at the shift of the cock inside him. Derek just rumbles, obviously pleased.

“You’re going to move in here, with us,” Derek says after a few minutes. 

Isaac lifts his head again and finds Derek’s eyes burning red again. That feeling of safety comes back forcefully; somehow, he _knows_ Derek will take care of him. Derek will always take care of him.

As if Derek can read his mind, he smiles. “You’re Pack now, if you want.”

Isaac shivers and nods.

"I want."

* * *

 **48**  
Pairings: Sterek  
Warning: Crack, Intentional Plagiarism  
Inspired By: About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was part of him — and I didn't know how potent that part might be — that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. ~Twilight

“The notes about the Omega are on my desk in the spiral notebook,” Stiles called from the kitchen where he and Scott were getting snacks.

The desk was a mess and Derek huffed as he sifted through the clutter until he found the notebook. He opened it to see what Stiles had found. 

> About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Derek was a werewolf. Second, there was a part of him--and I didn’t know how potent that part might be--that longed to slam my forehead into a steering wheel. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.¹

“ _What_.” Derek knew he should put the notebook down and continue looking, but it was too good to pass up. He shrugged, knowing Stiles would do the same were their positions reversed, then flipped to another page of the worn notebook. 

> Derek stood tall, black leather jacket taut over his bulging muscles as he folded his arms across his chest. His familiar aura of anger expertly masked the concern I knew lay just below the surface. “I told you to stay out of it, Stiles,” he growled. 
> 
> The more he glowered, the more I wanted to peel back his skin and expose the nerve underneath. He was like a lost moon--his planet destroyed in a cataclysmic fire--that continued, nevertheless, to circle in a tight little orbit around the empty space left behind, ignoring the laws of gravity.²
> 
> “You’re not angry, you’re afraid! You’re not a lone wolf anymore, Derek! Stop fighting m--us when we’re trying to help.”
> 
> Anger alit his eyes, bright and red, and he shoved me into the wall. He looked wild and animalistic, but nothing about him frightened me--not anymore. I placed my palms over his chest and pushed; not to push him away, but to feel the pulse of his heart under my hands.
> 
> "Don't be afraid," I muttered. "We’ve got each other." I was abruptly overwhelmed by the truth of my own words. This moment was so perfect, so _us_ , there was no way to doubt it.³

“Ummm.” Derek ran a hand over his face, embarrassment warring with morbid curiosity. He flipped to a page towards the back. 

> His body was warm marble, hard everywhere and sculpted to perfection. I had never seen anyone so beautiful in my entire life.

“Oh, God.” Derek squeezed his eyes shut, certain he had imagined the next bit of text.

God help him, he hadn’t.

> When his palm brushed my dick, I repeated every periodic element I knew to keep myself from coming. I anchored myself to him and pushed my fingers through his silken hair as I leaned in to kiss him. 
> 
> Derek pushed his knee between my thighs and used his hips to thrust me into the wall. His nostrils flared and red bled into his irises. The cacophony of noise that was ever-present in my brain was finally silent and the only sound I could hear was the shotgun of my heart.
> 
> “Fuck me,” I murmured, my lips pressed against the jugular of his neck. He groaned brokenly and nodded. I loved his submission, that he could trust me with this, with him. I needed it like he needed mine. 

Derek first snorted, then broke down laughing until his vision was blurry. He wiped his eyes and skimmed the rest of the page.

> His erection was a hot brand against my own and the more I arched up into him, the more my stomach coiled with a need for release.
> 
> Derek thrust down, indulgent, and nipped at my ears. His hot breath tickled my neck as he whispered, “I’m going to strip you bare.”

“ _Red_ spiral notebook!” Stiles yelled as he ran up the stairs, practically spilling onto the floor as he burst into the room. Derek looked from the purple-and-distinctly-not-red notebook to Stiles, then back to the notebook.

“Oh. _Shit_.” Stiles snatched the notebook and stuffed it under his t-shirt. “Boundaries! My dream journal is off limits!”

“Dream journal. That's what we're going with?” Stiles’ eyes narrowed and Derek felt a smirk tug at his lips. “Do you dream about my ‘warm, marble perfection’ often?”

Stiles flushed redder than Derek had ever seen him flush before. Finally, Derek took pity on him and leaned forward to whisper hot breath into Stiles’s ear. “After Scott leaves, I’m going to strip you bare.”

Stiles gasped, his eyes wide and mouth agape. “Scott! Buddy! Time for you to go home. Unless you want to --” 

“Nope!” The front door slammed shut. 

Derek stripped him bare.


	4. Group D: With Warnings and Pairings

**49**  
 **Pairings:** Jackson/Lydia  
 **Warning:** body modification  
 **Inspired By:** “Wolf! Right here and now!” ― Peter Straub, The Talisman

**50**  
 **Pairings:** Stiles/Derek  
 **Inspired By:** Little Red Riding Hood by The Brothers Grimm

**Little Red Stiles**

“Come get me, Big Bad,” Stiles purred then winked. “Little Red’s got something for ya.”

The werewolf’s grin was predatory. He’d take the kid apart with his mouth first and then...Derek was going to fuck that sexy smug look right off Stiles’ face. 

* * *

**51**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Kate  
 **Warning:** none  
 **Inspired By:** "A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. He had it all backwards. Arya, the lone wolf, still lived, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned." [Arya Stark, A song of Ice and Fire](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Eddard_Stark)

* * *

**52**  
 **Pairings** : Derek/OMC  
 **Warnings** : None  
 **Inspired By** :  
 _“And the wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.”_  
― Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are

* * *

**53**  
Pairings: Derek/Stiles  
Warning: None  
Inspired By: "If we love and allow ourselves to be loved...well, a person who loves is the most precious thing in the world, worth all the fortunes that ever were. That’s what you’ve taught me, fur face, and because of you I’ll never be the same." Watchers, novel by Dean Koontz

* * *

**54**  
 **Pairings:** Chris Argent/werewolf!Sheriff Stilinski  
 **Warning:** non-con, marking, blood and violence  
 **Inspired By:**  
Help me believe it's not the real me  
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become  
\- Three Days Grace, "Animal I Have Become"

* * *

**55**  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** none  
 **Inspired By:** _"The wolf thought to himself, what a tender young creature. What a nice, plump mouthful..."_ The Brothers Grimm, Little Red Riding Hood


	5. Group A: No Warnings or Pairings

**1**  
 **Inspired By:** "I always felt there were two kinds of people... wolves and sheep. Those who kill and those who get killed. And you, Huntsman, you are most certainly a wolf." – The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

It had taken weeks of mindless small talk, when all the girls wanted was the end result. Lips on lips, teeth on skin, the bites, the scratches... They needed the boys. They needed them to feel complete. The last of the Argent and Martin bloodlines... Two alphas can only co-exist for so long before they need something more.  
Lydia was the first to fuck Stiles. She purred as he entered her from behind, clumsily - the poor boy was obviously a virgin, but that was fine. The next was Allison with Scott. He'd taken a little longer, wanting to respect her, and in the end she dragged him to the janitors closet, stripped, and ended up riding up and down on his cock, her legs wrapped around his waist.  
Then came talk of a foursome.  
"Whenever you're ready, ladies." Smirked Stiles, watching the girls, who were both in their underwear. Lydia smiled flirtatiously, and wrapped her arms around Allison, who looked a little more hesitant.  
"Allison, look at me." Lydia whispered, "For the pack. We wanted to do this together, remember?" Allison swallowed, and nodded, and her fingertips trailed up Lydia's sides. Lydia moved in for the kiss, and Allison moaned into it, expertly unclipped the bra. Her eyes opened and she looked back over at the bed as she heard a groan - Scott already had his hand wrapped around his cock. Stiles was slower, his eyes still on Lydia.  
"Let me help." Allison said, her voice heavy with lust. Stripping , she lay on her stomach on the bed, and pulled Stiles' still limp dick from his boxers, and kissed the tip, before slipping it into her mouth. Her hand wrapped around Scott's cock, together jerking him off.

"Ready, big boy?" Lydia asked Stiles, and Allison sat up, removing the cock from her mouth. He nodded eagerly, and Lydia smiled. "Good pet." Stiles looked confused, and Lydia quickly pushed him down, and straddled his body, backwards, until her pussy was over his face. "Lick me, now please." He didn't react at first, and Lydia huffed - for a pretty face, he could sure be slow sometimes - and ground her pussy against his nose, until his tongue began moving. Relaxing against him, Lydia licked Stiles cock up and down, turning her head to look at her fellow alpha. "Sweetie, you taste good." 

"Get on top of me." Allison said, lying down, one hand idly reaching across to stroke Lydia's ass. Scott nodded, hardening as he heard the noises Lydia was making. Thankfully, as he pushed into Allison, he found that she was soaking wet anyway. His body was flush against hers, the only thing moving being their hips. She threw her head back and moaned animalistically, Scott pressing his lips to her neck to suck there. She was so close already, and feeling the tension in Lydia, she could tell she was as well. Now was the time to strike. Closer, closer....  
Just as Allison's orgasm hit, her nails extended into claws, and she ran them deep down Scott's back. She could feel the blood under the claws, and she held Scott, despite his screams. A cry came from beside her, and Allison watched the blood trickling down from Stiles' ass - Lydia had obviously chosen a rather unique place to claim her mate. In his panic, he bit down on Lydia's clit, drawing blood, and she pushed him away from her, eyes glowing angrily.

"You may be my mate, but you have NO right to hurt me!" She snapped, more from the indignation of the act and less from the injury, which was already healing. Stiles was writhing on the floor, and Lydia had to look away - the pain on his face was the part she hadn't been looking forward to.  
Scott's screaming slowed, but his back was still wet with the blood, and he arched it as he now lay on the bed, feeling something burning through his entire body.  
"What the hell! Did you drug us?!" He snapped, staring at Allison, and quickly she leant over him - her features softened, but her eyes glowing red.  
"Me and Lydia... we were lonely. We wanted mates, we wanted a pack. And as soon as we saw you... we wanted you. I needed you. Lydia needed Stiles. You're both very special to us. We belong to each other now... In body, mind, spirit... You're my beta, sweetheart, and I love you very, very much."

* * *

**2**  
 **Inspired By:**

_“Last night you were... unhinged._  
You were like some desperate, howling demon.  
You frightened me. Do it again.” 

_~ Morticia Addams_

Stiles woke feeling loose limbed and warm. Sunlight filtered in through the gauze curtains and he felt good. _Really good_. It was nothing to slide his hand into his boxers, to start a gentle rhythm and sigh at the carefully rough friction of it.

The Hale house was in a constant state renovation and thanks to Stiles and Derek's not-entirely-consensual mystical marriage a few months back they were one pack. Creeperwolf had been ruthlessly, violently, “courted” by the crème de la crème of the lunarly challenged and needed saving.

Stiles breath caught and he wiggled his hips a little to help slide the material down his thighs.

It'd been a Hunter's Moon and Derek found himself in something of a rut. Literally. Thanks to a mix of instinct and ancient tradition a Hunt was held and Derek's first heat forcibly triggered by the machinations of the Alpha Pack. Candidates roamed the woods, fighting and sabotaging each other until Derek brought down the prey of his choice and mated them. Stiles throat clicked at the memory of how he'd looked. Wolfed out, naked, and utterly silent in the shadow of the treeline.

That image haunted him, made his dick twitch and dribble at the memory of it.

The memory of what they did.

Being prey was easy, was something Stiles knew how to work and use to his advantage. So he threw his ticket in, played suitor, and prayed Derek wouldn't slaughter him. Tradition stated the pack had the right to fuck up whoever Derek rejected right off the bat, one barbaric point in their favor. One they used to their full advantage as they systematically took down the competition with claw, metal, poison, and fire while Stiles played come-catch-me-stupid with their slavering Alpha. Until he'd finally been cornered and the only thing he'd had to save himself was the desire to win and presence of mind to plan for all possible outcomes. He hadn't planned on there being that much blood though, on screaming that loudly, or on being turned.

Not once that night had Derek been able to lose the fangs.

Stiles heart stuttered and raced at the sense memory of how they'd felt buried in his flesh when Derek finally mounted him. Had to grip the base of his cock because his instincts were forever fucked up now and he didn't want to come yet. He breathed and gently stroked at his slick length until his thighs were twitching and his heartbeat finally calmed to something that didn't resemble fear.

It was a lot like how Derek touched him now, has always touched him since that night. Slow, soft, tender, and utterly maddening. Some nights Stiles wanted to rip _his_ throat out, with his teeth. However he asked though Derek never quite took it there again, that place they first reached together, never seemed to understand and Stiles was too proud to beg for it. Their Alpha had sacrificed enough for them, he couldn't ask for more.

Derek wasn't home now though, the house was empty this morning actually. So Stiles felt safe enough to ask for it now, to beg like he wanted to with only his shaking body and their perfect, polite, pointless little marriage bed as witness. Thrust up into his hand and arched his back so hard it could break as he whined and thrashed and fucked himself on hastily lubed fingers.

_Please, please, please--!_

He was so far gone Stiles didn't realize, at first, that the brutally deep growl thrumming through the air wasn't his imagination. That Derek stood there, summoned by the sharp spike of aroused terror he gave off, and was _watching_ him rip into their sheets with his still new claws, panting for him.

When he did finally realize Stiles eyes grew wide and glowed in shock before he narrowed them, gave a bitter sort of snarl that Derek would once again ignore no doubt, would shush and soothe away until Stiles was tenderly taken apart and hating himself.

So when Derek answered with a thundering roar instead. Slammed the door shut, stalked to the bed in a terrifying burst of speed, and snagged the top of his boxers to rip them down and off like so much flimsy paper Stiles couldn't help but respond. His head fell back, fangs flashing, throat bared, and howled in something like triumph when Derek lifted him up by the hips and fucked him open.

* * *

**3**  
 **Inspired By:** _Van Helsing, 2004_  
Top Hat: I see the wolfman hasn't killed you yet.  
Van Helsing: Don't worry. He's getting to it.

 

The mirror in the tiny bathroom of the run-down apartment is covered in grime, almost brown with dirt. Stiles stares through it, at his eyes and his cheekbones, the scattering of moles near his ear and the hair he's let grow out these past few months. 

His hand drops to the silver Werewolf Capture Unit badge attached to his belt, opposite his gun, and he wonders how his life became this fucked up game of lies and sex and pretending to do his job.

"Can I borrow your bike?" he asks Scott when he comes out of the bathroom.

Scott looks up from the movie he's watching, eyes sharp and knowing, and his mouth thins unhappily. For a moment Stiles thinks he'll say no, but then he reaches for the keys on the coffee table and tosses them over.

"Be careful."

Stiles' answering smile is tight and wan. "Always."

*

They fuck half-dressed in Derek's Camaro, parked deep in the woods. Stiles rides him in the driver's seat, fingernails digging into the leather, slamming his hips down as Derek thrusts up to meet him, one hand on Stiles' dick.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Stiles breathes, the stretch of Derek's cock inside him so good he thinks he might cry.

Derek growls and raises his free hand to Stiles' hair, gripping tight and pulling him into a hard, messy kiss. His grip tightens around Stiles' dick, stripping him fast and rough, and Stiles _keens_ , coming in pulsing spurts all over Derek's shirt. Derek continues fucking him, panting harshly against Stiles' mouth, and when he comes he leans forward and bites down on Stiles' shoulder.

Afterwards, Stiles sprawls half naked in the passenger seat, ass leaking Derek's come all over it. He reaches for his discarded pants and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"You shouldn't smoke," Derek says. "You're human; it's stupid."

"This car is stupid." Stiles lights up, dragging in the acrid smoke and blowing it out in Derek's direction. "It's like you're asking for trouble."

Derek's smirk is slow and wicked, and a shiver of heat curls down Stiles' spine.

"Maybe I am."

*

Scott is still awake when Stiles gets back.

"I see the wolfman hasn't killed you yet," he says, catching his keys when Stiles tosses them.

Stiles snorts. "Don't worry. He's getting to it."

*

They get caught, ironically, by a pair of traditional hunters.

*

The ground is cold under Stiles' knees, dampness from the earlier rain seeping through his jeans. There's a gun pressed to his head, and his own weapon – filled with wolfsbane bullets – is pointed at Derek.

"You know," Stiles says conversationally, "taking down a werewolf without a badge and proof of danger to others is illegal."

"Almost as illegal as killing an officer of the law," Derek adds, just as casual, and Stiles grins at him.

Derek grins back, and Stiles can just barely see the way his teeth are sharper than usual and his eyes are growing red.

The hunter holding Stiles' gun against Derek's head sneers. "So is a werewolf and a WCU agent fucking each other up the ass."

"Don't worry," the one above Stiles says. "We'll give you a moment to say goodbye."

Stiles smirks. "Goodbye."

*

Derek rips them to pieces.

*

Stiles braces himself against a tree, head dropping between his shoulders. He stares down at his badge, still attached to the jeans that are now around his ankles, and the standard issue WCU gun on the ground between his feet.

Derek fucks into him from behind, claws sharp pinpricks against the skin on Stiles' hips. His teeth are blunt now, clamped tight on the back of Stiles' neck, forceful and possessive. Stiles shudders, his hard dick bobbing with every rough snap of Derek's hips, and tries to focus on the bite of the tree bark digging into his palms.

Derek growls, the vibrations shooting straight down Stiles' spine to his dick.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles swears, dick giving a painful throb. "Oh fuck, Derek."

Derek's cock is huge inside of him, stretching him open as he pushes as deep as possible, relentless and almost desperate. He doesn't release Stiles' neck, growls turning to whines and whimpers, and his pace goes fast and erratic. It's too much, and Stiles can't hold off any longer, letting go and shaking apart as he comes.

It lands on his badge, splatters over his gun, and Stiles closes his eyes as they fall together into oblivion.

* * *

**4**  
 **Inspired By:**  
Love is a poet, love sings the songs  
Pointing his finger you follow along  
Voices are calling, the monster wants out of you  
Paws you and claws you, you try not to fall  
\-- "The Beast", by Concrete Blonde

_The wolf and the human do not love the same way._

Scott aches when Allison breaks up with him (again). He watches her from across the room, soft, longing looks with his heart in his eyes. He makes plans to gain her attention (in a good way) and he whispers them to Isaac. Stiles is long past patience with this courtship, but Isaac is willing to listen as long as Scott’s talking, and Scott just needs someone to hear him and tell him he’s not being an idiot.

Tell him it’s going to work out.

Even when Scott slips into his daydream, remembering the slip and slide, thrust and moan of loving Allison, Isaac is patient. He listens to Scott’s murmurs about how Allison’s skin shimmers in the moonlight, and the taste of her on his tongue. Scott rambles about the salt and bitter and tang of her fluids and Isaac nods.

Scott _tries_ to court Allison again.

He buys her flowers: one rose for every week he has known her. He finds them in the trash outside her house.

He sends her a crossbow, specially commissioned for her and her alone. She fires a bolt into Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac forgives Scott. Allison does not.

Scott holds the cloth to Isaac’s wound, blood staining his fingers as he prays for the healing to begin. He meets Isaac’s eyes and nods once to the words unspoken.

His human side has to let Allison go.

 

_Wolves mate for life. Humans do not._

 

Scott lies in bed, despite Melissa’s attempts to convince him to come down for breakfast, despite Stiles stopping by. He keeps the lights off, the shades drawn. His wolf aches to run, but his humanity mourns the loss of love.

He catches the scent of Isaac, fleeting and quick, and the wolf wakes. He sits up before the door opens and light spills in from the hallway.

Isaac gives him a rueful smile, ignoring the way Scott’s eyes flash and a low growl starts. Instead, Isaac pulls the door shut behind him, settling the room back into darkness. He stalks across the room—Scott has no other word for that lanky grace as Isaac moves, suddenly right there before him, kneeling down and framing Scott’s face with his hands.

Scott’s wolf rumbles under his skin; his head tilts, pressing against Isaac’s hand.

“I can’t make you forget,” Isaac whispers. “But I can help.”

His lips are a whisper against Scott’s mouth, barely taking the kiss before he moves again and Scott is left wondering what that even was. Hands push against his chest, and Scott goes with the motion, lying back on the bed as Isaac nudges his shirt up, fingers skirting along the edge of Scott’s jeans. A soft growl, and Isaac _laughs_ , and Scott wonders what that means that Isaac can laugh when Scott’s wolf is awake and talking.

Then Isaac rubs his cheek against Scott’s groin, and Scott stops thinking at all.

Scott is entirely aware that it is _Isaac_ who carefully unzips his jeans, pushing them open. It is _Isaac_ who pushes his boxers out of the way and tugs his dick free. It is Isaac’s mouth and Isaac’s tongue that lazily lap at his length until Scott pushes his fist against his mouth to contain the howl that wants to break free.

Isaac laughs again and takes him in for just a moment, leaving his dick wet and slick with spit.

He jacks him then, quick rough tugs that rotate his fist around Scott’s dick, and Scott presses into that touch, thrusting as instinct takes over. Musk scents the room, and Scott’s wolf wants to howl again, hungry to taste it.

Scott reaches out, fists his hand in Isaac’s hair and drags him up to claim his mouth, inhale his scent. Tongues tangle as Scott delves deep, swallowing the small moan Isaac gives him while his hand twists again. Scott thrusts into those tight fingers, balls drawn up as he cries out, the sound muffled by Isaac’s tongue. His body jerks, twisting when he comes, spurting white stripes over both of them.

They fall back onto the bed together. Isaac smiles, half smirk and half shy.

Scott’s wolf snarls and Isaac bares his throat, submitting. Teeth close over the tender flesh of Isaac’s neck; Scott slides his hand inside Isaac’s jeans, finds his dick, and strokes.

He will never forget his human love, but he is wolf now.

 

_Let the wolf run free._

* * *

**5**  
 **Inspired By:** _"Once I saw him in the moonlight, when the bats were a flying  
I saw the werewolf, and the werewolf was crying" _ -Cat Power

Stiles sneaks out of his house when he's 11. 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, his heart beating wildly, and it's not like a panic attack. Not like the way his vision gets blurry and he can't breathe when he thinks about his mom being gone. This is more restless, like an itch under his skin, and a stone in his throat like he's going to cry.

The forest, dark and eerie, looming on the edge of his yard, calls to Stiles. And he goes.

There's a low mist clinging to the ground. The moon is full and it turns everything bright, except when the heavy clouds obscure it, and then everything is gray and purple hazed. There's an October chill that nips at Stiles' skin through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, but he doesn't feel it.

He's not afraid.

When he reaches a small clearing he stops, just on the edge. Goosebumps run down his spine, because whatever it was that brought him out into the dark, it's _here_.

The wolf is a shadow in the middle of the open space, defined by the absence of light more than anything. Its head is bowed low, its tail is tucked between powerful hind legs.

It snaps its head up when Stiles moves closer, but Stiles doesn't falter. He just walks forward, and it feels like a dream when his fingers sink into soft fur.

The wolf throws his head back and howls, low and mournful, then curls to the ground.Stiles follows, because the wolf is lonely. Like him.

He wakes up, curled in a ray of sunshine. Alone.

Afterwards, when Stiles is back at home, tucked safe in his bed, his dad calls what Stiles did, _"running away”_. There's a panic in his eyes that's only out of proportion until Stiles' hears about the fire. About all those deaths, with no one yet brought to justice. 

The wolf's mournful cry stays with him for a long time.

~*~

By the time Stiles is 16, the once sharp edges of the memory have gone hazy, and he almost manages to convince himself that the entire night in the woods was a dream.

And then he meets Derek Hale for the first time, and it all rushes back to him.

There's just... something about Derek. About his eyes, or the way he tilts his head and looks at Stiles like _he's_ the dream.

Something that reminds him so viscerally of the wolf, that Stiles can't breathe. Not like a panic attack, but a stone in his throat like he's going to cry.

~*~

When Stiles steps into the clearing, it's not a wolf that's waiting for him this time.

Derek's back is to him, but the light catches at the pale places where his skin isn't covered up by cotton and leather; the back of his neck, the tender place behind his ears. His hands, where they clench into loose fists.

"It was you," Stiles says, "That night in the woods. I wasn't dreaming, and it _was_ you."

Derek's turns, and he doesn't look anything like the angry and brooding person that he'd been the other day, when he'd found Scott and Stiles lurking around, looking for a body.

"Yes." And then Derek is crowding him against a tree. He buries his face in Stiles' neck and breathes for a long time. Stiles lets him, sinks his hands into Derek's hair in return

"You feel this too, don't you?" Stiles asks.

"Yes." Derek breathes the word against Stiles' lips, then chases them into his mouth.

 

The kiss feels like coming home. It feels huge and scary, but somehow neither of those things at the same time. Whatever this is, it started 6 years ago, and it was always destined to end here.

As the kiss gets deeper, Derek skims a hand under Stiles shirt. His hands are hot, and they leave goosebumps in their wake. Stiles arches into the contact, then fights a moan when Derek's hands slide to his belt, one working the buckle, and the other slipping under the waistband, thumb tracing Stiles' hipbone.

"Oh my god," Stiles groans, and then he whines when Derek pulls away, looks into his eyes.

"If we do this...Stiles this is _it_. If we do this, you're mine."

"Does that go for you too?"

Derek's smile is small and pained, but still genuine.

"Sooo...Werewolf married? You _are_ a werewolf right?"

Derek huffs a laugh, and then he's sliding a hand down the front of Stiles jeans, curling it around his cock.

"Yes."

* * *

**6**  
 **Inspired By:**  
tell us nothing, tell us lies //  
all your passion that you hide //  
tonight the hunt for you  
(Hunt - Goldfrapp)

 

In the hush of the woods, the three of them lie in wait: red-hooded, whisper-quiet, and armed with arrows and purple powder.

They're waiting for a wolf to come along.

***

"We're not children anymore," Allison says. "We're going out to hunt."

"You don't even know what a wolf looks like, Allison," her mother says, eyes piercing and cold. "You have years yet to join us. The hunter's way is patience. Be patient."

They have never been patient.

***

They find no wolves the first day, so hunker down to sleep in a small hollow, leaves camouflaging their presence. The air is surprisingly warm, and clustered together they are even warmer. Lydia complains of dirt under her nails but curls her head under Allison's chin just the same. Across Lydia is Stiles—his arm stretches over both of them, and his hand rests in the curve of Allison's waist.

Sleep is easy.

***

When they wake, they aren't alone.

"You look comfortable," a boy says.

Allison freezes. She can just see the curly top of the intruder's head over Lydia's shoulder.

Stiles stretches outrageously and rolls over, smacking his lips and yawning.

"You must be new here," the boy says, his grin sharp and white-toothed. "To the woods. Welcome."

***

The boy's name is Isaac.

"Wolves?" he asks, with one eyebrow raised. "You see those deeper in the woods, sometimes. I can guide you, if you want."

They glance at each other, weighing and flinging opinions with their eyes.

Allison decides.

***

Isaac is lightfooted, and leads them through the woods in almost perfect silence. The forest gets warmer the farther in they go.

Allison takes the rear. She's watching when Isaac pauses to show something to Stiles, leaning gently into his space.

"Do you trust him?" Lydia murmurs between the branches.

"I'm not sure," Allison says. "I don't think he's leading us astray."

Up ahead, Isaac whispers something to Stiles, lips brushing his ear.

Lydia looks back at Allison. "Are you sure?"

***

They stop for the night.

The heat is sweltering. Allison peels out of her leather, and though she still has a tank top beneath she feels oddly naked. Lydia and Stiles watch her under their eyelashes, and she smiles shyly back at them.

Isaac isn't looking at all, head tilted down and away. Somehow that's thrilling too.

Lydia takes off her red hood, leaving just the color of her hair to spill around her shoulders. Stiles' forehead is shiny with sweat; he pulls off all three of his shirts and wipes his face with them. Lydia loops her finger in his belt loop and pulls him close.

"I'll sleep outside," Isaac says, eyes oddly bright.

"No," Allison says, glancing back at Stiles and Lydia. "Maybe—stay."

***

It's too warm to sleep, so they don't.

Lydia and Stiles kiss open-mouthed, leaning across her body. She groans and grabs Lydia by the hair, stealing her into a kiss. It's hard and animalistic; it's wet and full of teeth. It's just what she needs.

"Do you—" Stiles asks, hesitating with a hand on her thigh.

She says, "yes," and spreads her legs, an invitation. He moans a little, trembling, and slides his fingers closer, almost in. They've never gone this far before.

"I can just watch," Isaac says, his voice low and lazy. "I wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Touch if you want," Lydia tells him, a dare. "We've invited you, haven't we?"

"Yes," he says, licking his lips. "I suppose you have."

Isaac is a bit of a biter, leaving red hickeys on the inside of Allison's thighs. He's in the midst of leaving one on Stiles' neck when a twist of Lydia's wrist has him coming suddenly, unexpectedly.

Allison isn't sure, but she thinks she might have seen—teeth.

"A battle wound," Stiles laughs afterward. His neck is blotched purple and red, but the skin itself is unbroken. Isaac hums and noses at the spot, fingers splayed wide across Stiles' chest.

***

There has been no sign of a wolf for the entire journey, until suddenly—there is.

He is black and red and stands in the middle of the path, staring directly at them.

Allison goes for her bow, but stumbles—her thighs burn like fire, in little shapes like teeth. To her right, Stiles is on his knees, clutching at his neck. To her left, Lydia is untouched.

Up ahead, the wolf is not a wolf anymore, but a man.

"You're mine," he says simply.

***

Allison's parents had always told her this, but she had never quite understood them.

There is nothing more dangerous to a hunter than love.

* * *

**7**  
 **Inspired By:** He did the monster mash / The monster mash / It was a graveyard smash  
-[The Monster Mash](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AxcM3nCsglA)

"Where's your costume?" Stiles asks.

"I'm a werewolf," Derek says, deadpan.

Stiles shakes his head and laughs. "Of course you are," he says and kisses him. "Come on."

They get drinks and Stiles reintroduces Derek to a few of his fraternity brothers whom Derek has met several times, but who never remember him due to their extreme intoxication at the time.

It took a long time to get why Stiles wanted to join a fraternity—he has the pack, after all, what greater fraternity is there—but the pack isn't around when he's at school, and he's always been kind of a loner so it makes sense that he'd want somewhere he could easily belong.

The party is full of werewolves, witches, vampires, leprechauns, and fairies, some of which are actually human. Of course, there are plenty of cop-out costumes—slutty whatevers and jocks in their actual athletic uniforms—but for the most part people have gone all out. Stiles made it clear he wasn't letting anyone attend who wasn't in costume, and his fraternity brothers take Stiles seriously.

Stiles himself flits about the party as a raven, keeping up on his hosting duties. His costume isn't much—black jeans and a black shirt—but he has great feathered wings strapped to his back that somehow move as if a part of him. The painted-on black eye mask is speckled with silver glitter that lends him an almost ethereal quality. Derek can't take his eyes off him.

\---

It's bizarre to watch Stiles' fraternity brothers interact unknowingly with these creatures of the night. Intent on having the most authentic Halloween party possible, Stiles invited all manner of creature the pack had befriended over the last few years. _Everyone loves a party_ , he'd said. _Even monsters like you_.

"I don't recognize those guys," Derek overhears. He follows the speakers' line of vision and has to tamp down a laugh. Boyd is talking with Oona and Nixie, a couple of Merfolk they'd had run-ins with several years back but whom they've come to respect and rely on.

"Stiles said they're from D-Chi," someone answers.

"They're _really_ dedicated to those costumes."

\---

Eventually Stiles gets Derek out on the dance floor.

"You've been watching me," Stiles says, as they sway together.

"Can't help it. That costume..." Derek looks him up and down, enchanted by Stiles' wings, which he discovers aren't strapped on at all. He can't stop running his fingers along Stiles' back where skin ends and wing begins.

"Leaf helped. They'll disappear after a few hours, but I thought it'd be fun to have real wings for a night."

"I like them," Derek admits. Stiles kisses him, long and slow. The DJ's exhausted his Halloween music stash and moves on to mood music as the party winds down. 

"Come with me." Stiles takes his hand and leads him to the edge of the graveyard behind a huge crypt.

Stiles drops to his knees as soon as they're out of sight, wings spreading out behind him. He mouths at Derek's dick through his jeans—always so eager—while his fingers fumble with Derek's belt.

His dick is in Stiles' mouth before Derek can register cool, night air on sensitive skin. Stiles sucks him down hard and fast, no nuance or finesse in the act, just pure want. Derek fists a hand in Stiles' hair, guiding him back and forth with increasing speed. Tearing fabric echoes in his ears before he realizes he's torn Stiles' shirt clean off.

Shiny, black feathers practically glow in the moonlight. Derek runs gentle fingers along the edge of Stiles' wing and Stiles moans around Derek in response, feathers ruffling.

Derek feels his orgasm building deep in his gut. He has to move to lean back against the cold, marble wall because his knees threaten to give out. Stiles' fingers and mouth are _insanely_ talented and he knows precisely how to take Derek apart. Then Stiles looks up at him through that painted on mask.

It starts as a low growl in the back of his throat. The shift overtakes him, quickly and uncontrollably, the moment he's finished coming. The combination of Stiles and the full moon is too much for his shattered control. He lands on the ground on all fours and _howls_.

The record screeches to a halt. When Derek looks up, he discovers he's fallen out of the protective shadows of the crypt and is in now full view of the party guests.

"Wolf!" Someone shouts. " _Run!_ "

* * *

**8**  
 **Inspired By:** "That boy is a monster... he's a monster in my bed" - Lady Gaga

Stiles is honestly a little devastated when he finds out that Derek's dick doesn't swell twice the size when confronted with his hot ass, nor is there any abnormal amounts of jizz involved in Derek's orgasms. He just doesn't understand why the internet would lead him so furiously astray—like, that is a straight up betrayal. Really, none of the werewolfy things he expected of Derek in the sack are remotely true. 

At least so he thinks. 

It's a surprisingly lazy Sunday. Usually, someone is threatening to behead them way late into the night and there is a lot of scrambling in the morning light to make sure there aren't any visible body parts sticking out of the ground from a hasty burial or blood stains. 

But the only thing that happened last night was that Isaac got lost in a cave for a good three hours and whined for twice that amount of time because bugs are gross, moss is unnatural and he wanted a fucking burger. Baby werewolves, man. The result is Stiles can think up a pretty good excuse to his dad and spend the morning getting a lazy, dedicated blowjob by his ~~boyfriend~~ buddyfuck. It's not the first time Derek's mouth has been on his dick but it's the first time there is time enough to really draw it out and just enjoy not being in life threatening situations for longer than it takes to get into another one. 

Stiles isn't shy, he pushes his fingers into Derek's soft, still damp form the shower hair and tries to get Derek to do what Stiles' wants but it's mostly pointless. Derek seems damned and determined to suck every ounce of coherence out through his dick—Stiles is mostly not protesting.

"What the _fuck_ ," Stiles spits out, balls aching when Derek pulls off and smirks. 

Then he goes after Stiles' thighs with his teeth.

"Oh my god."

He doesn't draw blood but Stiles can feel the bruises blooming, bright and so close to the surface that it prickles his skin, sending shivers up his spine. Derek sucks large marks on the inside of his pale thighs until Stiles is shaking, choked off little sobs breaking into curses when Derek looks up. His eyes are still hazel but the smugness that goes hand in hand with dramatic warehouse entrances is there. 

Ridiculously, his eyes are just as hot as his beej skills. 

"Shitshit—jesusfuck," Stiles says, but then the sucking lets ups just a little bit to make room for more dick action and hell yeah, blowjobs. 

Pathetically, he feels close to coming and he's leaking a mess onto Derek's tongue for about seven prolonged seconds before Derek's teeth are invited to the party of pain in and around Stiles' crotch. 

"Are you—fuckfuckfuck— _Derek_ ," there is definitely teeth on his dick. Why is that awesome? It's like he's being brainwashed by werewolf weirdness and he hasn't even noticed it because Derek has super perky nipples and they're always almost dying. 

He's definitely noticing now. 

There are a few moments when it's just suction and teeth and his thighs are burning. Stiles is fairly sure he's gonna die. It's too much and Derek is just smirking, mouth filthy and horrible and yeah—it doesn't take much more than that. 

A sticky, spit covered finger scratches it's way down his balls and then it's _inside him_ because Derek is a sneaky bastard and god—

He comes like that, a dry finger pressing inside, Derek's hand choking his dick and a mouthful of sharp teeth smiling at him from where they're nestled against his thighs. Derek finishes him out like that, probably enjoying the frankly embarrassing noises coming out of Stiles' mouth that are definitely sobs and like, whimpers but god. His crotch is _bruised_ and Derek is now tonguing at his balls like that's an acceptable method of comfort. 

A 'good game' ass tap in the war of sneaky, surprise werewolf sex. 

"You asshole," Stiles manages to get out, after Derek's jerked off all over the blotchy, shipwreck of his thighs and looks smug as fuck. "You said marking wasn't a real thing, that werewolves didn't do that shit."

Derek stares. Stiles imitates, " _Pesky human, get your head out of the Internet, you perv_!"

There's a hint of a smile but it's still self-satisfied and finally, Derek leans down and says,

"It's not a werewolf thing, Stiles. It's a me thing." 

Then he shoves his jizz fingers in Stiles' face and totally ruins the moments. 

Typical.

* * *

**9**  
 **Inspired By:** "In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer." [Wiki PAGE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slayer_\(Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer\))

 

Werewolves are real. And Miguel is Derek- _freaking_ -Hale. 

Danny dried himself off then wrapped the towel around his waist. He thought back to the afternoon when ‘Miguel’ had glared at him and Stiles. _Shirtless_. And new questions skittered across his mind: Why was Derek Hale in Stiles Stilinski’s room? What was the angry striptease about? And, seriously, why was _Derek_ in _Stiles’s_ room? 

Danny pulled on a pair sweats, slid the DVD into the player, then hit play. The best way to deal with real werewolves was with fake vampires. Apparently. 

_“In every generation there is a Chosen One,”_ he listened to the familiar intro and watched the the first disk. But sometime during Episode 4 Danny realized that Sunnydale was actually Beacon Hills. And Scott McCall was actually Buffy Summers; reluctant hero with a nerd posse. Only Scott was way hotter and he had a dick. Danny sat up against his headboard. If Scott was Buffy, who was Angel?

Jackson? No. Derek, Danny decided. The leather, the fur, the weird stalking (if Stiles was to be believed). On the screen Angel and Buffy were in her room, stuttering over words and lovesick looks. And then they were kissing. Danny squinted at the screen and imagined Scott and Derek. 

He imagined Derek glaring at Scott; they’d be arguing. Derek would back Scott against the door and Scott would growl, he’d push back. Derek would took the step forward, tighten his fist. On screen Angel pulled Buffy closer. Derek would grab Scott, one large hand wrapping around Scott’s neck. And then they’d kiss. Tongues sliding, teeth biting, hands fisting. 

“Fuck,” Danny hissed. 

Scott’d tighten his hold on Derek’s hair and pull, _hard_. Derek would growl into his mouth, bite Scott’s lower lip then slam them against the wall. Derek’s eyes would flash red, his fangs lengthen. He’s slide his leg between Scott’s and press hard. 

Danny closed his eyes and rubbed the heel of his hand against his hardening cock. Derek would pull at his own shirt, strip it off and throw it behind him. Scott would have moved to Derek’s jaw, his neck. And Derek --

The credits started and Danny rolled his eyes open, rubbed his hand over the line of his cock again. Not cool, Buff. He turned on _Surprise_ , turned the volume up and pushed his sweats down. He listened to the voices play, the tension between Buffy and Angel build. 

He popped the lid to the lube, imagined Scott waiting in Derek’s bed. It’d be raining and Scott would have his shirt already off. When Derek would walk in, he’d.... 

No. 

Danny rolled onto his back. Scott wouldn’t wait for Derek, and he wouldn’t run to Derek’s lair. 

He thought back to Stiles’s room with Derek. _Stiles_ , though, would wait for Derek. But he’d leave a trail of clothes to the bed where’d he’d be waiting with his cock in his hand. 

Danny moved his hand down, gripped his cock and jerked it the way Stiles would. The way Stiles would pull tight, slide down loose. He wouldn’t want to cum, not until Derek was there. Danny barely heard Angel walk into the scene, but the music slid into an erotic play. He imagined Derek walking in, seeing Stiles’s fingers slide over and around his hole, pulling his cock with his other hand. And Derek would jerk still; his eyes glued on Stiles spread out for him.

 _“Angel,_ ” Buffy gasped in the background. Stiles wouldn’t gasp, he’d look at Derek and smirk. He’d dare Derek. And Derek would accept, he’d cross the room and stop Stiles’s hands, pull Stiles’s fingers from his ass. Stiles would whimper into Derek’s mouth, he’d beg Derek for everything; he’d beg Derek to fuck him. _“Please,_ ” Buffy cried against Angel. 

Danny sped his hand, tightened his hold until his cock was in a slick heat. He bit his lip and ground his hips up, imagined Derek was on top of him. He imagined Stiles was beneath him. Derek would slide he claws over Stiles’s ribs. And before Stiles could speak Derek would bite down on his bared throat, he’d suck a bruise into his skin. He’d fuck into Stiles until he was trembling and begging for more. 

Danny groaned, stripped his cock faster. He tightened his fist until he came with a moan over his hand and stomach. He sucked a breath, then another. He wiped himself clean then lay back. Vampires were apparently not the way to handle werewolves.

* * *

**10**  
 **Inspired By:**  
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack  
– Rudyard Kipling

 

She’s stopped shaking when the door of their cage burst open. Her eyes are glassy and her hair is a tangled mess in his hands from where he’d been pulling it to keep her from losing consciousness. The red clashes with the blond but they are both long past caring.

Boyd holds her tight in his arms and snarls with what little strength left in him, before he realizes that the wolf with red eyes staring down at them has no intention of smearing more of their blood into the earth.

For the first time in weeks the beast in Boyd unclenches and whimpers as Derek’s scent surrounds them.

***

Isaac is warm against his back as they both help Erica into a shirt too big for her, the harsh black only making the bruises and scratches on her skin stand out more. Her hair is a wet tangle around her shoulders and she’s shaking again, this time from shock. Boyd runs his hands across her skin trying to chase the chill away uncaring of the way his own cuts pull and burn. They did worse to her, delighting in the way she screamed.

Boyd doesn’t know where they are. The place doesn’t smell like anyone’s in the pack. But the floor is soft under his bare feet. Derek had pushed Boyd and Erica to a bed against the wall the second he’d gotten them out of the shower.

He’s at the door with a strange wolf that Boyd doesn’t recognize. All he knows is Derek is telling him to leave and locking the door behind him.

Boyd feels Erica tense as Derek’s approaches them and he gets it. Derek might have saved them but it doesn’t change the fact that they left. They turned their back on their Alpha and look at happened to them.

“It’s okay.” Derek’s voice is soft and he’s settling down on the bed on Erica’s other side, letting her press in close against him. There is a brush in Derek’s hand and he’s gentle as he starts to pull it through her hair. She leans back against him and uncoils. Boyd doesn’t doubt that if she could she’d be purring. 

Isaac presses in closer and Boyd lets himself relax as well.

They’re safe.

***

Erica is curled up between him and Derek. Her face is pressed into his chest and her hand is holding Derek’s against her heart. Her heartbeat is steady and for the first time in weeks she smells strong. The fear was washed off her skin with the blood and Boyd just breathes it all in.

He can’t close his eyes though, the fear still clawing at him that this all could be another trick. That he’ll wake up and Erica’s body will be cold beside him and he’ll be covered in their blood. 

She was dying and he would have been next. 

Erica shifts, the shirt dragging up to show the whites of her thighs and Boyd tenses again, the movement startling him. 

Isaac breathes against the back of his beck, hand tightening around his midsection and Derek’s eyes are open, staring at him. Boyd falls asleep with the red of Derek’s eyes guiding him.

***

Erica is screaming and Boyd feels claws dig into him before he could do anything. It takes him a second to realize its Isaac holding him down and Erica is _fine_. She’s cradled in Derek’s lap, wrapped tight around him and shaking. But she’s fine.

She pulls back and strips the shirt off over her head and before pressing her bare skin against Derek’s. 

Boyd gets it. 

The need to crawl inside their Alpha, their pack. To forgot the past few weeks.

Derek seems to understand too, wrapping his arms around her and whispering softly in her ear. 

Isaac seems to catch on as well, pushing Boyd’s shirt off and the next thing he knows they’re both pressed in tight with the others, skin against skin and it’s _right_.

Boyd doesn’t stop Isaac from leaning forward and licking into Erica’s mouth, hand gentle on her face as he lays her out between them. Erica is hot around him and Derek’s mouth is gentle as he traces her nipple. Isaac is hard behind him and all Boyd can smell now is Pack. 

Derek’s eyes are red again; power spilling out and covering them.

Strength flows between them, the weakness slipping away and Boyd has never felt more powerful, has never felt like he’s belonged anywhere else but here.

* * *

**11**  
 **Inspired By:** “If you call one wolf, you invite the pack.” - Bulgarian Proverb

Stiles knows how to avoid poison oak, but whatever he's fallen into during one of Derek's latest pack exercise, he's very sure no one ever warned him about it, and that is epically unfair.

It started off as a flush as he jogged after the rest of the pack. By the time they'd finished their run, he was hot all over, but figured a run would do that to you. But several hours and one icy shower later, he's still feeling flushed and his breath is short and he's very sure something is very wrong.

He texts Derek because Scott may be his best friend, but he's they'll never be able to look each other in the eye again if they have this conversation. _Sos need ur help stat._ He unlocks the window, then falls into bed feverish and aching.

Twenty minutes later, the window's untouched but footsteps creak on the stairs. He has a moment to panic, afraid his dad is home early and they will _definitely_ never be able to look each other in the eye if he finds Stiles in this state. But when the door opens, it's Derek, looking grim. And behind him, the whole goddamn pack crowding into Stiles's room.

"Oh my God," Stiles moans. "I asked you for _help_. I asked nice. Did you have to bring witnesses to my humiliation?"

"Hush." Erica prods him upright and then presses in against his side, one hand spreading low across his stomach. Need hits him like a punch to the gut. "He didn't bring us. We came because we wanted to." Her teeth graze the shell of his ear. "We're pack. We're a package deal."

"I can't—" He looks desperately at Derek. "I need—"

"We know." They pile onto the bed, a tangle of limbs, a mass of skin pressed against his. Isaac slides in behind Stiles, chest against his back and strong arms wrapped around his middle. He breathes against Stiles's ear and it's steadying. "We smelled it when we came in. It's a poison, Stiles. The only way to work it out of your system—"

"Yeah." He chokes off a laugh. "I can guess."

"Do you want—"

" _Please_."

Erica's hand slips down to take his cock out of his pants. He's been hard for hours, and the touch of her fingers feels like a brand. He arches, crying out, but the pack steadies him. Even Scott, who looks solemn, but doesn't look like he's going to be forever traumatized by this. He leans his forehead against Stiles's shoulder and murmurs, "Breathe. Just breathe. We've got you. You're going to be fine."

With a dozen hands tracing over his skin and six mouths leaving damp trails across it, Stiles is starting to feel like he might. The fire burning beneath his skin is changing, shifting to a more familiar heat. Erica pulls her skirt up, straddles his hips, and sinks onto him with one hand braced on his chest, pressing him back against Isaac.

Isaac's breath is a caress and Erica rides him, gentle and sure. Scott mouths at Stiles's shoulder and strokes his arm while Boyd sucks bruises on his chest. And Jackson — God, even fucking _Jackson_ is here, and he glares when Stiles chokes and tries to push him back. "Don't be an idiot, Stilinski," he snaps, and then sucks at Stiles's nipple as though to prove his value.

Stiles turns his head, seeking Derek, seeking something to anchor him before he flies apart beneath the pack's collective attention. And Derek's there, right there, leaning in and sliding his hand over Stiles's jaw, and before Stiles even has to ask Derek's kissing him, mouth open and slick and filthy. And it's perfect. Stiles grabs onto fistfuls of Derek's hair and moans into his mouth as he comes, body shaking, twitching beneath the pack's touch. They lay him down and crowd in close around him, on top of him. Erica climbs off of his spent cock and kisses him with her red, curving lips. "Sometimes even Batman needs to be saved," she says, and curls against his side.

He is going to be in so much trouble if his dad comes home to this. But as the poison slips out of his system and sleep comes to take its place, he wraps his arms around as many of them as he's able and murmurs, "Stay."

"We're not going anywhere," they whisper back, and he falls asleep content.

* * *

**12**  
 **Inspired By:** _The wolf, he howls, the lion does roar_  
The wolf lets him in, the lion runs in through the door  
The real fun begins, as they both thrash upon you, and rip open your flesh  
The lion eats his fill and then, the wolf cleans up the mess  
Thrice - The Lion and The Wolf

"Stiles..." Derek groans, pushing him down against the bed and pinning him there with his weight. Stiles arches beneath him, baring his throat to Derek's hungry mouth. 

"Derek, you almost cracked his head on the headboard," Lydia scolds, crawling on besides the pair of them pushing them apart.

Derek yields and Lydia takes his place perfectly straddling Stiles; she doesn't have the strength to pin Stiles, but she doesn't need it.

Stiles can be such a good boy.

Derek moves behind Lydia, fitting himself to her back and slotting his dick into the satin-covered crack of her ass. He loves the smooth feel of the material against his cock; he loves seeing his come stain it more.

Lydia's trailing lazy kisses down Stiles's throat, as he holds perfectly still for them. Derek leans over her shoulder, grinding his dick into her ass, as he starts pressing biting kisses into the other side of Stiles's neck.

Stiles's moans are obscene already; his hands are there seeking out Derek's and tangling their fingers together.

Lydia thighs spread wide over Stiles's hips and Derek can almost smell the scent of her cunt on Stiles's cock. She pulls back and frantically tugs at her panties, they're last bit of clothing between the three of them.

"Condom." Her voice is raw and needy. She throws her underwear over her shoulder and holds her hand out.

Derek hates that they have to wear them when they fuck her cunt, but he's not ready for pups. Not yet.

Stiles hands the condom to her, packet already opened and sits up on his elbows to watch her slowly roll it down his cock. He licks his lips as she strokes it once, before throwing a leg over him, leaning forward so his dick points straight at her cunt. Derek can hear the sound of them kissing, the wet noises and whispered words.

"Don't be a creeper," Stiles says, his first words in what feels like forever.

"Put him in me," Lydia commands, smiling back at him through a tangle of red hair.

They scare him sometimes.

Stiles is hot and hard in his hand, the latex feels and smells horrible, he knows it's more than a human could smell, but he doesn't care. He drags Stiles's cock through Lydia's folds, slicking it up in her juices. She's so ripe and ready for him, for _them_.

Lydia shudders as he rubs against her clit with the blunt head before tugging it down to rest at her entrance. He holds it steady as Lydia pushes back, letting the tip of Stiles slip into her.

She doesn't go for a slow, teasing build-up, not tonight. She rides Stiles hard and fast, her breasts bouncing as she takes what she wants from their boyfriend.

Derek slides up to Stiles's head, thrown to the side, where his mouth is open in a shock of pleasure as Lydia fucks him.

It doesn't take much to lean over him, to run the glistening head of his cock against Stiles's full bottom lip. Stiles's eyes fly open and his tongue darts out to capture the smear of pre-come Derek's left on his lips.

He slowly starts feeding his cock to Stiles, growling as the fucking tease slowly sucks on what he's given, fluttering his tongue against the underside.

He braces himself against the headboard as Stiles sucks him. Lydia's getting close now, her thrusts are losing rhythm and she's working her clit hard and fast, the wet slapping sounds almost deafening to his ears above the harsh panting of their breaths.

She comes with a gasp and almost throws herself off as she thrashes through her orgasm, dragging Stiles with her and making Derek withdraw his cock.

It's Derek that has to pull the used condom off Stiles's softening dick. He can't resist a small taste, licking at Stiles groin where Lydia's juices have soaked and some of Stiles's own come has dribbled out of the condom.

He noses at it, the smell of his mates as he frantically works his own dick; he licks Stiles as clean as he can. He feels delicate but firm fingers grip his cock; Lydia working him towards orgasm. He leans in for a kiss with Stiles, mouth still musky with the taste of Derek's cock, as he comes over Lydia's hand.

They collapse in a pile of sated bodies smelling of sex and sweat, of pack and mate, of home.

* * *

**13**  
 **Inspired By:** “If you call one wolf, you invite the pack.”  
\- Bulgarian Proverb

“You need to realize something Stiles.” Peter purred, his eyes glowing the fierce blue of a beta wolf. “If you call one wolf, you invite the pack.”  
Stiles sputtered and backed away. “I didn’t call anyone! I just…”  
“Just…?” Peter smirked, “You called Scott but he denied your request even before you spoke it. You tried calling the huntress and dear sweet Lydia but both of them wouldn’t give you the time of day to hear you out. And now…me.”  
“Well actually not you.” Stiles said, “I was trying to contact Derek.”  
Peter scoffed, “And do you think my nephew would have agreed?”  
“Well…” Stiles sighed and shook his head, “Not really. I’m pretty sure I would have chicken out before I could ask him.”  
“So like I said, me.”  
“Not you!”  
“Why not?”  
“Well for many reasons, none the least that you’re a 35 year old man who is creepier then the guy who stands at the corner of the elementary school with a trench coat filled with suckers.”  
“…ouch.”  
“So no, not you. I think I’ll just go now.”  
Peter ran forward and bared the door, “Oh no, this is too delicious a opportunity to waste, you want to be knotted-”  
“NOT OUT LOUD!!”  
“And I so happen to have a lovely knot that as a gentlewolf would be reminisce to give you what you want.”  
“I don’t want it to be you!”  
“And Scott was the better choice?!” The disbelief in Peter’s voice caused Stiles to flush.  
“Well no. But I never said I wanted to…have sex with him!! I’m curious okay?! I just want to look.”  
Peter sent Stiles a knowing look. “At first, but you know that once you see it you’d want to touch it and touching leads to sucking and…”  
“I get it! Stop!”  
“So?”  
“So what?”  
“Want to see it?” Peter leered.  
Stiles slumped in defeat. “…yes. Damnit.”  
\--  
“Oh!” Stiles gasped out as a slick tongue circled the head of his cock, he chocked in the whimpers that begged to be let out.  
“Don’t hold back sweetling. I want everyone to hear you.”  
“E-everyone? Who are you-oh!”Stiles gasped as Peter swallowed him down without pause. Stiles withered on one of the makeshift beds in the warehouse that Derek and his pack meet for trainings and meetings.  
Stiles cried out as he reached his peak and spent deep down Peter’s throat, he could feel the older man’s throat muscles contracting against his sensitive flesh and Stiles felt his face become wet with more sweat and tears. He’d lost the battle more then a half hour ago when Peter had wrangled his first orgasm from rimming him. This was his second and judging by the large bulge in Peter’s pants it wouldn’t be the last.  
“Now then, I think we should head towards the main delight don’t you think?” Peter purred, “I won’t take you-” Peter shush Stiles before the boy could start complaining. “-like I was saying I won’t fuck you this time. Instead I think I would like to feel that delightfully sarcastic tongue on my knot. Any objections?”  
Stiles whimpered as his cock once again began to harden.  
“Good, then my dear…suck.” Peter pulled his cock out of his pants, shimmering them down to his ankles so that Stiles had a clear view and reach of his goods.  
Stiles stared down hard at Peter’s cock, he was a good 8 inches and at least an inch thicker then Stiles’s own cock with a lot of foreskin, but none of that was what captured Stiles’s attention, no it was the large and hard knot at the base of the cock that had Stiles drooling at the mouth.  
Stiles leaned forward and began to mouth at the piece of flesh, it didn’t take very long for Stiles to get into a rhythm of alternating sucking on the head of the flushed cock and licking and nibbling along the hard flesh of the knot. Soon, way sooner then either of them would of liked Peter began to orgasm. Cum pulsed out of the cock in long streaks, painting Stiles face and neck with its sticky mess.  
Peter sighed and leaned back from Stiles mouth which was still licking along his spent cock and knot, unwilling to let it go.  
“Don’t worry Stiles, I’m sure the others are tired of waiting so if you miss it so much I’m sure one of the others will be willing to let you play with theirs.”  
Stiles froze. “Wait-what?”  
Peter smirked as Derek, Boyd, Erica and Isaac walked out from the shadows, each of them had an expression of hazy lust on their faces.  
“Remember Stiles, if you call one wolf, you invite the pack.”

* * *

**14**  
 **Inspired By:** _Got a curse I cannot lift ... Gonna teach you tricks that'll blow your mongrel mind_ from TV on the Radio's, "Wolf Like Me"

Jackson _looks_. It comes as no surprise to Lydia. He’s the prototypical archetype of the guy that _looks_. Getting worked up over it would be the greatest exercise in futility Lydia could ever engage in. She hardly notices it now, not until the nature of what he’s looking at changes.

She watches Jackson’s eyes take on that glazed expression, his mouth dropping open slightly. It’s almost cute. She follows his eye line and freezes. Because he’s not staring at a low neckline or tight jeans. He’s looking at Stilinski. His eyes are diligently tracking the zig-zagging movements of his hands before they refocus on the play of his mouth.

Huh. Well that’s new.

* * *

“Close your eyes.”

Lydia rolls her own when Jackson only stares up at her, wary and untrusting. Really, does she have to do everything herself? _Apparently_ , she thinks, annoyed, as she closes them for him.

Jackson’s whole body is tense when she lies down next to him. She rests her palm over the tattoo of his heart and presses soft kisses to his jaw, his ear, she even drops one on his lips that he half-heartedly answers. He relaxes by increments and she whispers into his skin, “I’ve seen you looking at him.”

He seizes right back up again and Lydia’s smile widens. “At Stilinski,” she says, because she wants him to _know_ she knows.

Jackson’s eyes shoot open, the heartbeat beneath her hand quickening. “I _don’t_ —”

Lydia shakes her head. “Shh, close your eyes.”

Jackson stares at her for a long moment, swallows. He settles back, letting his eyes slide closed a second time.

“I don’t blame you,” Lydia admits, a pout to her lips and a finger trailing down Jackson’s neck. “Not with a mouth like that.”

Jackson bites his lip as he shifts on the bed and Lydia can see the front of his jeans tenting. “I don’t—I’m _not_ —” His voice shakes and for a second she wonders if he’s covering a sob.

“Warm and _wet_ and always open.” She enunciates her words and there’s a nice little _pop_ at the end of them. Jackson groans low and throaty, trying to hide it from her, and she walks her fingers down his chest. “Imagine what it would feel like _on_ you, Jackson,” she says, breathing the words straight into his ear. “He’s a virgin if I’ve ever seen one but he’s got natural talent written all over him, doesn’t he?”

Jackson closes his eyes tighter, his legs spreading involuntarily. “I have a theory about why you call him Stilinski, you know?” And she wants to straddle him but this is about the sound of her voice and the fantasy of Stiles. Nothing more. “It’s because when you’re alone, late at night, and you slip your hand under the covers, it’s _Stiles_ you shout when you come.”

And Jackson is _leaking_ , moaning, and she’s hardly touched him. It’s the name. The name he can’t say himself, the name he can’t admit to wanting. She’s never seen him so turned on before. “What is it about _Stiles_ , Jackson? His big, _strong_ hands, his virgin mouth, or is it just that you would be his first?” Jackson pulls in a rattling breath, gasps. His hips are twisting, shifting off the bed, and she knows he’s imagining Stiles taking his cock, swallowing it down while he stares up at Jackson with innocent – whatever color eyes he has. Blue? Jackson knows. She would bet it all that Jackson knows.

“Can you see him looking up at you with those wide, baby blue—”

Jackson shakes his head and he’s almost too far gone to say, “B-brown.” Lydia’s lips twist. It’s what she expected but still.

“I could talk him into bed with you. Tell him I wanted to watch.” Jackson’s breath stutters in his chest and he lets out an almost obscene moan. “But that’s not the way you want him, is it?” Lydia can see the sweat beading on his forehead and his upper lip. He’s close. “You want _Stiles_ to come to you on his own. You want him to push you up against the lockers after lacrosse, rip away your towel and fall to his knees so he can finally put that wide, _mobile_ mouth to good use.”

“Lydia—” Jackson gasps out, claws shredding his sheets.

“Imagine grabbing the back of his head, fucking his face—”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jackson whimpers as he explodes into orgasm, and then, “ _Stiles_.”

Another hypothesis proved.

* * *

**15**  
 **Inspired By:** “…my right hand is the wolf.” ~Margaret Atwood, “The Puppet of the Wolf”

“Stiles, get up. Someone’s coming.”

Stiles managed to stifle a groan. He’d been sleeping deeply – much more so than he should have in this long-abandoned house. “I told you we shouldn’t have stayed here for the night,” he hissed. 

Derek ignored him and peered toward the front of the house.

“How many of them?” Stiles asked, quickly lacing up his boots. 

“Five,” Derek said. “They know we’re here.”

He shifted into beta form as Stiles picked up his rusty machete. Derek gave Stiles a quick nod and they both moved out of the bedroom, unwilling to be cornered in the back of the house.

They met up with the other group in the living room, and Stiles immediately found a sawed-off shotgun pointed at his chest. “Drop the knife, boy,” the man with the gun grunted.

Stiles almost laughed. This was certainly no group of hunters. Three of them were armed only with makeshift clubs and the only other one with a firearm – a kid, barely more than a teenager – was holding his handgun _sideways_. There was almost certainly no wolfsbane or mountain ash in their weapons. Still, a chest full of buckshot would slow Derek down as his body healed around it.

Derek put himself between Stiles and the gun, and the man snorted derisively. “There doesn’t have to be violence, son. Call off your pet werewolf here and we’ll talk.”

Stiles stepped up beside Derek. “I’m sorry, _pet_ werewolf?”

The leader nodded. “Smart move, scrawny guy like you pickin’ up an attack dog.”

Derek had apparently had enough. He let out an almost subvocal growl, which startled the others but gave Stiles his cue. Derek bore right as Stiles bore left – but not before swinging the machete up into the forearm of the man with the shotgun.

The whole thing lasted a matter of seconds, Derek easily slashing the leader’s throat before pouncing on two of the raiders armed with clubs. The boy with the handgun fired on Stiles, his shot going wide since his grip couldn’t handle the kickback. Stiles slashed once across his stomach and, in the same smooth motion, brought the machete down on the back of his neck as the boy crumpled forward. The last man was already out the door.

Stiles’ heart was pounding and he was breathing hard, even though this was far from their hardest or bloodiest fight. The way his blood rushed whenever they survived another one… “Derek, get over here.”

Derek had shifted back to human, but his eyes were still burning red. “You giving your pet werewolf commands now?” he growled, pressing Stiles into the nearest wall.

The adrenaline was still pumping fast in Stiles’ veins as he crushed his mouth against Derek’s. Derek looped an arm around Stiles’ back and lifted him until Stiles could wind both legs around Derek’s hips.

Wiping a stray splatter of blood from Derek’s cheek, Stiles whispered, “How fucked up is it that I get off on you taking down three guys in thirty seconds?”

Derek laughed darkly, grinding his hips into Stiles’ until Stiles forgot to breath. “No more fucked up than how hot you look with that machete,” he muttered against Stiles’ throat, then continued sucking what would become a bright, livid bruise into his skin.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles groaned as Derek found the right angle, slotting their erections together and getting just the right pressure on Stiles’ cock through the fabric of his jeans. Their clothes were ruined with blood anyway; might as well go all the way with it. Wouldn’t be the first time. “ _Faster_.”

Derek grunted and Stiles leaned back to let the wall take some of his weight and give Derek more room to move. “C’mon, you sick bastard,” he moaned, bucking in Derek’s hold. “Make me come.”

It only took a few more thrusts before Stiles was arching his back and shaking with release. Derek continued rutting messily against his hip, Stiles hissing with the friction on his oversensitive cock but unwilling to let go of Derek until he came, shoving Stiles so hard into the wall that it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

Eventually, Stiles lowered his unsteady legs to the ground. Then they set about the task of digging through the dead men’s rucksacks and pockets, looking for anything of value.

Stiles heard a soft gurgle to his left: the boy Stiles had taken down was barely clinging to life. Derek leaned over and, with a single claw, mercifully slit his throat.

* * *

**16**  
 **Inspired By:** _The wolf is carnivore incarnate[...], only immaculate flesh appeases him._ \- Angela Carter, "The Company of Wolves"

The chains Scott had used to keep Stiles in place shone brightly under the light of the full moon, only a small breeze and Stiles' deep breathing breaking the eerie silence of the night. Scott's wolf howled within him, so Scott howled too, loving the way Stiles' breath stuttered, his heartbeat quickened. 

Under the pale light of the moon, Scott couldn’t tell Stiles had spent all summer outside anymore, his skin a shade of gray-blue, washed out, subdued. He ran his forefinger down Stiles' naked torso, his claw leaving a scratch in its wake, the blood pumping closer and closer to the surface; it was intoxicating. 

Scott leaned down and pressed his lips to Stiles', nipping with his sharp teeth, but drawing no blood. Not yet. Stiles shivered. 

"Are you sure?" Scott pulled back, he had to look Stiles in the face for this, for Stiles’ benefit more than his own; he could hear the steady (but fast) beating of Stiles' heart, could smell arousal flowing off him in waves.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in his voice. Nor his heart. Scott smiled, kissing Stiles gently once more.

The spell Deaton had given them came from some ancient tome or other, and he’d said something about believing, and letting the magic of the Earth and the Moon rise together and seal the bond forever. Stiles had looked enraptured, listening to every word with his whole body, perched on the edge of a stool. 

Scott had been glad neither of them were werewolves. He knew (theoretically, since he was otherwise occupied at the time) that Stiles had done _something_ before, that had made him believe in magic then, but Scott couldn’t be sure. After all that had happened already, Scott believed in heartbreak, pain, grief and regret. He believed in people, maybe even the good in some, but he also believed some were plain evil. And through it all, Scott also believed in Stiles. 

So he let his claws extend further now, raking across Stiles' skin, making Stiles shiver. Scott watched the way Stiles' cock twitched against his hip, heard the way his breath and heart stuttered whenever Scott got near him. 

They'd put the chains on to root Stiles to the earth, but now that Scott had Stiles here, that they had a bit more time before the moon moved directly overhead, he wanted to make it worthwhile. 

He wrapped a clawed hand around Stiles' cock and relished in the way Stiles thrashed in the chains.

"Scott, what-" Stiles began to say, but Scott kissed him again, silencing his questions and doubts, his hand moving up and down now, a steady pumping, like the beating of Stiles’ heart.

"Figure we can make this more fun than just all that creepy blood stuff," Scott said, trying for a joke. Failing by a long shot. But Stiles only nodded, leaned up and kissed Scott again, body relaxing completely. Stiles trusted him. 

Scott kissed him back hard. He moved on top of Stiles, letting his claw drop to the ground and dig into the dirt there, anchoring him as he began to thrust against Stiles, their cocks trapped between their bodies, sliding inelegantly. The friction swayed from too little to too much and the kiss turned to breathing in each others' frustrated moans. 

Stiles tugged at the chains on his hands and feet, wanting to fix it, no doubt, but for once, Scott had the plan, Scott was in control. He relished in Stiles' desperation, in his need and the emotions that swirled around them, that fed his wolf, drove him wild. As the moon rose higher and Scott could feel Stiles getting closer, he bit into his wrist and pushed it to Stiles' mouth, howling as Stiles sucked at the wound, drinking from him. He thrust down harder and faster, digging his claw deeper into the dirt when Stiles came, shuddering underneath him.

Scott's own orgasm came moments later, feeling like an outer body experience. The moon shone above them and he bit down on Stiles' shoulder – a sudden rush of blood and power and love into his body. Scott almost collapsed on Stiles, all his muscles giving out, body in a state of weightlessness, like his teeth in Stiles' neck and the chains holding Stiles were the only things keeping him from flying away. He could feel the magic flowing from the Earth to Stiles and into him then, and they were one. And Scott believed.


	6. Group B: No Warnings or Pairings

**17**  
 **Inspired By:** “I saw a werewolf drinking a piña colada at Trader Vic's/And his hair was perfect.” --Warren Zevon, “Werewolves of London”

He knew Derek would find him. 

After everything that had happened, Danny was tired. He was tired of being scared, of being betrayed, of being left in the dark.

The image never left his nightmares of his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, dead boyfriend – leering over him, wolfed out, while Danny was bleeding out, and then “Miguel” snarling, charging in from out of nowhere and taking him down.

He’d asked for the bite then.

Derek had looked at him long and hard, making Danny feel exposed, even weaker than he felt from the blood loss.

Derek bit.

Danny still felt weak.

So, he chose a university in England. 

He’s okay now. He has friends here who know nothing about kanimas and alpha packs. He has enough control that he’s okay on full moons. He doesn’t run amok in Kent or mutilate little old ladies. 

It’s months before he senses him in the city. He follows the unmistakable pull through the streets to Trader Vic’s where the trail stops. He wonders if Derek is playing a joke – a gay bar? Derek’s sexuality is still an item of contention. Stiles is convinced Derek’s team switched when he became alpha. The Hale line was a matriarchy, and Derek was never supposed to be alpha. 

The real reason Danny left, buried under all the other reasons, is that he doesn’t want to be an experiment. Not now. Not ever.

But he goes in anyway. And there he is. Derek Hale is drinking a piña colada.

His head jerks up and his eyes snap to Danny’s immediately.

Danny turns and runs. 

Derek catches him. Of course he catches him, on some rooftop garden in Soho. They face each other like a standoff.

“You left.”

“I told you I would.”

And then Derek is all over Danny. His hands are everywhere. The kiss is frantic and sloppy, and for a few minutes Danny gives in and runs his hands through Derek’s perfect hair.

But it’s not right. So Danny steps back, and lets his fist sink into Derek’s jaw. For once, Derek seems surprised.

“What was that for?”

Derek knows the answer. He strikes back. 

Danny knows that he deserves it, too. He holds his ground. 

They trade punches. Derek sweeps his leg, trying to topple Danny. Danny jumps out of the way and goes for Derek’s throat. Derek throws him across the roof into a stack of empty flower pots. Danny slams Derek’s face into a patio table.

They face off again, panting.

“You came to London.”

“You didn’t come back.”

It becomes a dance of fighting and fucking. Kisses become bites. Punches become gropes. They want each other. That isn’t the question between them. The want burns in the pit of Danny’s stomach, but there’s something else. It’s not anger, not anymore. No, he wants to dominate Derek. The feeling isn’t foreign to him, but it’s never been like this.

“Maybe I was going to.”

Finally, he presses Derek face first into the wall near the roof’s entrance. Whoever owns this garden could walk out at any moment, especially given the noise they’re making. But Danny doesn’t care.

“I couldn’t wait that long.”

Derek pushes his ass back. Danny yanks down his jeans. 

There’s no lube. Danny’s no boy scout. They do the best they can with saliva. 

It’s not tender. It’s a claiming. 

Danny is taking back his fear. Taking back all his weaknesses and everything he’s been running away from. He is owning them. Owning the werewolf never meant to be alpha. Owning Derek. 

They are more animals than men as they fuck.

Danny pulls Derek’s hair, wrenching his head back. He sinks his teeth into Derek’s shoulder. Derek braces himself with one arm and uses the other to grab Danny, clawing at him, urging him to go faster and harder. He needs this as much as Danny does.

His claws come out as he grips Derek’s hip with one hand, his shoulder with the other. Derek is halfway in his beta form, growling with pleasure. 

Danny stops fighting and lets go. Derek lets go too.

Release is a catharsis.

They walk back to Danny’s place beside each other as equals. A piece of paper flies toward them in the wind. Danny snatches it from the air. It’s a menu for Lee Ho Fook's.

Danny throws back his head. The sound he makes is a mixture of howl and laughter.

* * *

**18**  
 **Inspired By:** Little girls, this seems to say, never stop upon your way, never trust a stranger friend, no-one knows how it will end! As you're pretty, so be wise! Wolves may lurk in every guise! Now, as then, it's simple truth, sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth! By Charles Perrault (1697), quoted in The Company of Wolves (1984)

Stiles runs.

It's stupid. You don't run from werewolves--it's one of the first lessons he learned.

But, the fear has him.

The moon is full overhead, lighting his way through the dense forest, but, in the end, he trips over a root, sprawling inelegantly in the dirt and fallen leaves. A chill wind sweeps across him, bringing with it a howl.

Too close.

Panting for breath, he grabs the tree, uses it as leverage, pushes himself to his feet.

It's too late.

The wolf comes out of the brush ahead of him. It circled him.

He was never going to get away.

Derek's in his beta form barely, shoulders heaving, face twisting. Red eyes lock on Stiles and he stumbles backwards, hands held out in useless placation. Fangs flash and he yelps.

Derek grins around those fangs, licking his lips, and before Stiles can think of a way out, he lunges and takes them both down to the ground.

Grunting in pain, Stiles struggles but it's hopeless. He's going to be devoured by the wolf.

Straddling his squirming hips, Derek yanks the sides of his red cloak open and leers down at the pale, sweat slicked flesh, the cock, half-hard from fear and adrenaline. Stiles is naked, ready to be taken, to be the wolf's well-earned reward. Hands pin his chest down, knees trap his legs, and Derek slides backwards, leans down and devours his cock, swallowing to the root.

Stiles yells in pleasure, bucking as best he can, dick hardening all the way and already leaking. One clawed hand wraps around the base, pumping his dick into Derek's mouth where the fangs are a threat, the mouth is a hot suction, the throat a velvet trap.

Beating on the hard ground, trying to get away, to get closer, to get more, Stiles squirms, but he's prey caught by the predator and he's at the wolf's mercy. He wants to thrust up and up and just come, but the hand tightens, preventing his orgasm, and the claws on the other hand grip his hip, scraping just enough to make him shiver in fear.

And pleasure.

The blow job goes on and on and the moon shines down and Derek is the wolf, hungry, fierce, deadly.

Finally, the hand around his dick slips to his other hip and he's lifted. His cock thrusts down Derek's throat and his hands flail out, finding the longer hair of the werewolf, and he digs in and yells as he comes so hard he whites out for a split second.

Panting harshly, Stiles opens exhausted eyes to see Derek, cum dripping down his chin, red eyes so incredibly hot, rise over him and fling his head back as he howls his victory to the moon. He watches as Derek tears open his jeans and carelessly wrap his clawed hand around his hard, red dick, jerking it hard and fast. It's slick with pre-cum, the glide easy, and Stiles can tell he's close as he growls and pants and shudders above him.

His own cock has softened, laying spent along one thigh, and he waits, breathless.

Derek howls again and comes in spurts across Stiles' belly and dick. After nearly a minute of shuddering and coming, the wolf drops his head, his hand slows, and when their eyes meet, his are green again.

The werewolf is gone. 

"Little Red Riding Hood, really?" His lips twist in amusement.

Stiles grins back and plays with the edges of his red cloak. "Well, the big bad wolf always wants to eat me at the full moon."

Derek collapses next to him, tugging him half across his chest, wrapping the cloak back around him. "You and your games."

"Like you mind," he retorts lightly, playing with the drying cum on his stomach.

Leaning down, Derek kisses him. "Yeah, yeah."

"Such a sweet talker."

"That's you. I just lurk and hunt and pounce. I'm pretty sure you don't mind either." Derek leers and Stiles laughs and rolls on top of him because the moon is still full and the wolf is just beneath the surface and Derek can get it up even faster than he as a horny teenager can.

* * *

**19**  
 **Inspired By:**  
I hear they're getting closer  
Their howls are sending chills down my spine  
And time is running out now  
They're coming down the hills from behind  
Within Temptation – The Howling

The dust along the trail was cold beneath his feet, chilled by the early spring air. Stiles dodged trees and roots in his race to distance himself from the hunting howls behind him. Feet cold and cracked from pieces of forest debris on the path, made him wish he had shoes. But there was no time for things like shoes, in his haste to get away from the wolves.

He knew it was the night of the blue moon, but Stiles was too worried about his father to stay hidden underground with the others. Only the adults were allowed out on the night the wolves roam the hills, but his father was all he had left, he couldn't lose him.

The wolves never attacked the village in the past, but before he could finish dressing in warmer clothes, Stiles heard the howls and the sounds of destruction as the village was besieged. In a panic he took off to the forest.

Narrowing missing branches from the dense forest in his panicked rush, Stiles ran until he got to the end of a clearing. Coming to an abrupt halt, he was torn between continuing and losing the cover of the trees, or finding a place to hide. Before he could make a decision, Stiles was knocked off his feet by a larger body.

“Hello little omega. What's a sweet smelling thing doing in the woods tonight? Don't you know it's not safe to be in the woods alone?” his attackers eyes flashed red, “There's dangerous alphas on the prowl.”

“I am not an omega, I am human,”Stiles heart beat like a rabbit's in his ears, “Just a normal human, that would really like not to be eaten please.”

The alpha's chuckle was deep and throaty, “Oh little omega, how you amuse me. You might be able to pass as a human to others, but I can smell your untouched ripeness.” Lowering his nose into the crook of Stiles's neck, the alpha took a deep breath, followed by his tongue tasting Stile's salty skin. 

“I swear, I grew up in the village. I am human.”

Pulling both hands together above Stiles head with one head, the alpha used his free hand to slice open Stiles's red shirt with a sharp claw. “ I have heard of human villages trying to raise omegas like humans, trying to breed the wolf out of them. Don't worry, an omega's body calls for the touch of an alpha, you will enjoy yourself little omega.”

“That sounds creepy, there is no way I'll...”Stiles dropped his complaint with a whine. A hot tongue dragged across his sweat soaked skin.

“There that beautiful blue glow of your eyes,” the alpha said with another chuckle, hand traveling lower on Stiles body, “as much as I would loved to enjoy every curve of your delicious body, I need to claim my prize before another alpha comes to challenge me.”

“Wait! What? Oh god, you just tore through my pants.”

“Yes, it makes it easier to mount you without bothersome clothes blocking my way.”

Any smart retort stilled on Stiles lips, when he felt the pressure of the alpha's finger at his entrance. “How can you say you're not a omega when your body makes itself wet and ready for me?” And, Stiles knew it was true, he could feel it, even hear it, the slick sounds of the alpha's fingers working him open to easily. His body _humming_ for the alpha to mount him and fuck him like a broodmare, no like a bitch in heat.

“That's it little omega, spread your legs for me, let me breed you. Good boy,” wasting no time, the alpha was upon him, driving deep, forcing all air to leave Stiles's lungs. Pulling Stiles head back by his hair, the alpha forced Stiles to bare his neck, causing him to stare up at the sky. Focusing on the bright blue moon, as the alpha fucked him, Stiles tuned out every twisted term of endearment the alpha called him, every hard thrust into his body.

The moon smiled down at him offering no compassion as she bathed them in her radiance.

The feel of the alpha's swelling knot brought Stiles back to himself, before the telltale pinpricks of the alpha teeth on his neck. The feel of his blood flowing into the alpha's mouth, made Stiles dizzy with unease. Tipping his head back the alpha howled his mating to the pack. Answering howls were echoed across the hills.

He was mated now, blessed by the moon and pack, to an alpha he didn't know.

* * *

**20**  
 **Inspired By:** _“I spoke to Giles. He says I'll be okay, I just have to lock myself up around the full moon - only he used more words than that - and a globe.”_ \-- Oz the werewolf, _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_

 

It starts with a wolf bite.

\-- Well, no, Scott and Stiles' friendship started way before then, back in third grade after an incident with a worm, a Fruit Roll-Up, and a very upset substitute teacher --

But the change starts with a wolf bite.

It changes a lot of things.

**

"Deaton knows what I am," Scott announces while he and Stiles walk to school.

Stiles nearly trips. " _What_? How'd he know? What does he know? What'd he _tell_ you?"

Scott laughs. He looks way too happy for a guy that was bitten by a wolf two weeks ago. "Thinks it was an omega, a lone wolf, passing through. There was a pack around here a while ago but now -- they're not. So, probably, some random dude in wolf form accidently bit me, then took off."

" _Douche_ nozzle."

"Right?" Scott shrugs. "He explained it to me -- basically, I should lock myself up during the full moon. He was kinda cryptic in his explanation -- and used a globe, which was weird--"

"When isn't he?"

"--Then said I could use one of the kennels if I need."

"Okay, so full moon, we keep you safe."

"I think it's to keep everyone else safe." Scott smiles fondly.

"Right. That too. What's the globe about?"

Confusion lines Scott's adorable face. "I have no idea."

Stiles snorts. "Shocking, coming from Deaton."

**

"You might not want to watch," Deaton says. Scott is locked up in a large kennel, naked, hunched over in the middle of it, breathing heavily. "Perhaps if you step outside for a while."

"No." Stiles doesn't care what he sees, there is no way he's leaving Scott while he goes through this.

It's horrifying to watch; Scott's skin peels away as fur appears, hands turning into large paws, face morphing into a snout with long, sharp teeth. The sounds are worse, like it's causing him so much pain. It rips through Stiles over and over.

Until finally it's done.

Left in the cage is a large black wolf -- four legs, fur, the whole bit. Deaton moves towards him; he growls low in his throat, snapping in Deaton's direction.

"Scott, don't be a dick," Stiles says, getting closer.

Scott notices Stiles and whines sadly. He paws at the cage, as if trying to get out, but not angrily like he's going to attack. 

"Hey." Stiles kneels, metal separating them. Stiles isn't afraid. Scott _knows_ him, and tries to lick him through the cage.

"Interesting," Deaton says.

"What?"

Deaton smiles. "I will tell you both at a better time." With that, he vacates the room, leaving Stiles to sit with Scott-the-wolf through the night.

**

"You're sure you're okay?" Stiles lingers in Scott's room the morning after the moon. He seems fine, if somewhat tired, though extremely jittery and unusually nervous. It makes sense, given what just happened, but something's off. "Dude, what is it?"

Scott looks unsure. "It's just -- I _knew_ you. You kept me sane, kept me feeling completely like an animal."

"You're not. You're just a wolf."

"Right there -- you've been -- you're just so--" Scott gestures helplessly, looking frustrated that he can't explain. After a moment, there's clarity on his face. Stiles knows he's figured out how to say it.

Except he doesn't _say_ it. He leans in, kissing Stiles.

Stiles makes a surprised noise, but Scott doesn't relent. Stiles wants this, he's felt it for a long time, but he didn't think that Scott -- well, Stiles knows they're only buds. 

Except maybe Stiles has been wrong.

Scott pushes Stiles to the bed; he goes easily because he can't _not_.

It's fumbling and uncoordinated, hands everywhere, elbows giving sharp jabs, teeth clacking together. It's so fucking perfect Stiles can't believe it. They end up finding a rhythm with kissing -- wet, slick, wonderful -- while grinding their still-clothed bodies together. Stiles doesn't even get his hand on a dick, or one on his, before he's coming in his pants. Scott sniffs the air, growling, making Stiles laugh. Scott grins, but ruts down hard, shuddering, and comes in his shorts.

They press together on the bed, catching their breaths. Stiles' mind won't stop: what if things turn weird -- weird _er_ , maybe Scott hadn't meant for -- then there's the --

Stiles sits up suddenly. "Holy crap, I know what the globe is about."

Scott laughs happily, pulling him back down, and Stiles _knows_ this is another change they'll get through.

* * *

**21**  
 **Inspired By:** Monster by Lady Gaga (with a little bit of Teeth by Lady Gaga).   
Look at him, Look at me, That boy is bad, And honestly  
He's a wolf in disguise, But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes  
That boy is a monster

Derek may be a werewolf, but Stiles?

Stiles is a fucking monster. 

Derek loves him so much he wants to rip him to pieces and lick them all clean, sometimes. 

He wonders how he got so lucky. So lucky to have this honey-eyed boy with the angel’s face and the devil’s own mind. This clever, scheming, devious boy who tells Derek all the ways they are going to pull Kate Argent and her family apart at the seams, watching them bend and break, bleed and bruise, until nothing is left but sinew and marrow. 

God, he just want to fuck Stiles’ brains out. 

And he does. Derek fucks Stiles, thrusting in without stretching him, without any prep at all and Stiles hisses and curses and demands Derek goes harder, goes faster. 

Derek does. 

Sometimes Derek doesn’t know who he is anymore when he’s not with Stiles. When he’s not fucking Stiles or being fucked by Stiles or sucking Stiles off or whimpering as Stiles licks at his hole, teasing Derek for hours. 

His favorite is when Derek’s on his back and Stiles drives into him - hips snapping, flesh slapping. Stiles looks down at Derek with half-lidded eyes and smiles. When the light hits Stiles’ eyes just right, they reflect like a wolf’s - amber and gold, glinting in the half-light. It makes Derek’s stomach clench and his chest tighten. This human boy with his fragile skin and breakable bones is more of a wolf than Derek’s even been. Than maybe Derek will ever be. 

Stiles doesn’t have a tragic story. Doesn’t have a tale of woe or sorrow. 

Like Derek, he was just born the way he was. All sharp edges and hard corners with no mercy or softness in him. 

“Show me your teeth,” Stiles says, voice fucked out and low as he thrusts into Derek. Derek keens as Stiles keeps hitting that spot in him hard, almost too hard. But he can’t ask Stiles to stop, won’t ask Stiles to slow down or go easy. 

Stiles wouldn’t do it anyway, even if Derek did ask.

Derek lets his canines extend down, low and razor-edged. He runs his tongue over the pointed edges, teasing them a bit, pressing the meaty flesh against the tip. 

“Show me how sharp they are,” Stiles orders and Derek bites down on his own lip, blood spilling out and across his chin. 

Stiles leans over, bending Derek in half and laps at the hot-red liquid on his face, lapping it up. “What sharp teeth you have, Derek.”

Derek snaps his teeth down on Stiles neck and feels salty blood run out and over his mouth. Stiles grunts in pleasure, hips pistoning harder “All the better to bite you with,” Derek rasps and Stiles chuckles before pressing his stained lips to Derek’s - smearing blood over their faces. Stiles reaches down and grips Derek’s cock in a too-tight grip, pulling on it roughly. Derek drops his head back on the pillow with a ‘thunk’, exposing his neck to Stiles. He noses across Derek’s jugular, tongue darting out wet and hot against it, nipping at the flesh. Derek comes with a shout and Stiles fucks him roughly through it. He pulls out fast, and Derek can’t stop the whimper at the sensation, but the Stiles is jerking himself off and coming wet and sloppily all over Derek’s chest. 

Derek can’t stop himself from sitting upright, yanking Stiles hard, pulling him close. “Let me bite you,” he pleads against the soft skin of Stiles neck, where his pulse is hot and fast. “Make you a wolf.”

Stiles chuckles and kisses Derek on the temple, looping his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “I’m not quite done being this kind of a monster yet.”

* * *

**22**  
 **Inspired By:** "I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I take the words. I scatter them in time, and space. A message to lead myself here." ~Rose Tyler, "The Parting of the Ways"

 

Stiles studied the long slashes of paint across the front door of the old Hale house. He guessed this answered the question of whether the ubiquitous BAD WOLF graffiti tagged around Beacon Hills was actually a reference to the Sourwolf himself. Could a message be clearer?

Either someone’s a serious Doctor Who fan, or it’s the graffiti-equivalent of rapping Derek’s nose with a rolled-up newspaper. _Or_ , the secret geek part of himself chortled, _My future self is sending me a message about Derek Hale_. It amused him that he didn’t immediately discard this as a possibility.

~

“How stupid are you, Stiles???” Stiles glared at himself, pacing in agitation. “What the hell were you thinking? What part of *BAD* in *BAD WOLF* did you not understand? You almost ruined EVERYTHING!!!” 

~

It was a Derek Hale Stiles had never seen before – a feral creature, uncontained and unrestrained – the antithesis of the tightly controlled Derek who held his inner beast in check. This creature’s primal goal was to feed its basest instincts – and now razor-sharp claws pinned Stiles to the muddy ground, cold snout sniffling into his groin. A slow growl emanated from deep in the were’s chest as it crouched naked over Stiles, its oh-so-canine cock extended from its sheath, dark pink with a hint of swelling at the base. This was it, Stiles was convinced – the significant moment in time that all the graffiti was pointing to, the moment Derek Hale transformed into the BAD WOLF. Stiles had to get this right. Something was riding on this moment – enough to send a desperate message across time and space that only Stiles (and Rose Tyler) would understand.

Stiles ceased his struggles and lay back in the mud, acquiescing to Derek’s feral urges. He raised his chin, baring his throat to the beast, and pulling his hands back in surrender. What human part remained of Derek Hale grinned savagely.

A spray of flames shot through the darkness, close enough that Stiles could smell Derek’s pelt singeing. _What the fuck?_ The wolf snarled, backing slowly, facing off against the unknown intruder. A dark figure in a trenchcoat and a welder’s helmet approached through the twilight, wielding a flamethrower. “Bad Wolf!” the stranger shouted. “Bad Wolf! No cookie for you! Go home! Don’t make me put on the cone of shame!”

The beast cringed and backed away, snarling in frustration at the flaming torch. It reached the trees and loped off into the thicket.

~

The explanation came soon enough. “You let him take you when he’s out of his senses, out of control,” this older, stronger, sadder version of Stiles explained. “It’s… brutal. He’s tormented by the guilt. He pulls away from everyone, eventually just disappears into the bush, living wild. The pack is a wreck without him. He’s lost his trust in his wolf.” Older Stiles slumped in despair. “This is the pivotal moment, everything hinges on tonight. He realises he wants you, realises he can’t risk having you. It’s over before it’s begun.”

“So you came back in time – how, even??? – just to tweak the timing on when you get laid?”

“Exactly that. Your future – Derek’s, the pack’s, MY whole future – comes from what happens here tonight. I’ve worked over a decade for the chance to correct this moment. And YOU – you nearly blew it! Fucker.”

Stiles sat up. “But it’s good now, right? You fixed it – you could have just stopped him, you didn’t need to play this whole “Bad Wolf” game with me.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I thought you'd get it, obviously. Just… let him come to you. He will, in his own time, controlled. But… meanwhile…” He eyed Stiles speculatively. “It’s been a lonely wait?”

“Um… oh! Yeah?”

Stiles ohmphed back into the ground, Stiles’ mouth licking into his needily. Stiles’ hands grasped at his clothing, trailing heat as they wrestled off the offending garments. “Let me show you a few things you’ll pick up in the next few years…” A thick cock presses up against his, slick with pre-come, and Stiles grinds up into it as, with a twist, an almost-familiar hand works them efficiently and knowingly into an explosive release. 

As Stiles recovers under slow, teasing kisses, he resolves to consult with Lydia ASAP about this conclusive disproof of his time paradox theories.

* * *

**23**  
 **Inspired By:** _"Inuit call raven a "wolf-bird", as it cooperates with wolves – react on their howling, show them location of possible pray while wolves follow the raven's voice."_

A howl echoes between the tree tops. It's a mournful sound, full of longing and sadness. The wind carries an answering call to the wolf in the meadow, the caw of a raven high up on a tree overseeing the land and keeping watch. They live a solitary life, the wolf and the raven, roaming the wild together, hunting, playing and sleeping together, away from their brethren - for they are their brethren only in form. 

***

The raven hops forward, head cocked to gauge the wolf's reaction, then darts for the wolf's bushy tail. It caws in triumph, dark fur falling from its beak. It goes for the left ear then and the wolf whips around its head in an instant, catching the bird between its teeth. The raven squawks in outrage, wriggling until the wolf lets go. The raven fusses with its coat, making indignant sounds until the wolf gently nudges its muzzle against the raven's head, tongue darting out to help soothe its little friend's ruffled feathers. The raven subsides and nestles itself close to the wolf's side. The wolf curls itself more closely around the small body and closes his eyes.

The absence of the ambient sounds of the woods wake the raven and it raises its head toward the sky, the black of its eyes bleeding into amber as the moon edges into the path of the sun and paints the meadow in an eerie twilight haze. The raven's small body begins to elongate into human limbs, losing beak and claws until a man lays on the grass, naked and pale among a bed of black feathers. 

The man blinks and reaches blindly for his wolf, but the wolf is no more. Where there was fur the man's hand encounters smooth skin and a human face. The eyes are still the same: the eyes of a wolf. They were green once, with a starburst of golden brown in the center. That was a long time ago, before they were wolf and raven. They had names once, too: Derek and Stiles.

"Derek," Stiles whispers, voice a rusty croak, broken from disuse. 

Derek holds Stiles' face between his palms, thumbs brushing along the faint black markings along his cheekbones and temple. "Is this real?" he asks and it comes out low like a wolf's growl.

Stiles shakes his head in a daze. "I don't care." He grins, mouth stretched wide and eyes alight with joy. "I don't care," he urges, clutching Derek to him, arms winding around Derek's body, holding him as close as he possibly can. He presses his face into the side of Derek's neck, mouth open and greedy for the taste of Derek's skin. So long, it's been so long. 

Derek mouths along Stiles shoulder, nuzzling the downy black feathers that run up into his hairline. "Missed you," Derek whispers into Stiles' skin, hands careful on Stiles' body as if he could still crush him like the bird. "Missed you so much." 

They kiss and kiss until the ache in their lungs force them to part for a single breath. The grass cushions them as they sink to the ground, bodies wound tight, mouths wet and hungry. Stiles buries his hands in Derek's hair and wraps his legs around Derek's hips, urging him closer, hips moving and pressing until they lay gasping and grinning together in joyful exhaustion.

The shadows shorten and light edges into the meadow as Derek reaches for Stiles again, bringing him back into Derek's arms. A sharp pain in his biceps makes Stiles wince, and they stare in unison at Derek's hand on Stiles' arm, a drop of blood welling from Stiles' skin, as Derek's fingernails one after another lengthen and curve into claws.

"No," Stiles whispers, anguished, as Derek snatches back his hand. "Not yet, not yet. Don't go, please, Derek." Stiles' plea fades into a croak, the transformation robbing him of his voice first. Derek's body slips from his hands and Stiles watches in dazed horror as Derek crouches low to the ground, brown fur starting to cover his arms and shoulders and running down his back, swallowing up his human skin. Derek whines, an animal sound coming from his still human mouth. 

Stiles feels his own shift take hold, body morphing and bending itself into a different shape. The feathers itch and sting like a million paper cuts as they grow in. He blinks with human eyes one last time and opens them as a raven once more.

* * *

**24**  
 **Inspired By:** “Wolves are gentler beasts then they're given credit for.” - Wolf Hunt by Gillian Bradshaw

Allison goes to Scott’s house. She climbs to his window, slowly, carefully. How like a werewolf to leave it unlocked, arrogant in their belief that no human can match their feats. Or scale walls to reach second story windows.

Scott’s asleep, and maybe she smells familiar, but he doesn’t wake, not even as she slides down the sill to stand firmly in his room. Her feet coast across the floorboards, the squeaky ones memorized in happier times. 

She’s without weapons this time and if feels oddly vulnerable to be standing in front of some...one capable of killing her. So easily. 

She knows by now. About Kate. About Gerard. About what she herself was-is capable of. She is in the process of redefining the word monster. 

She spent the summer training with her father. Her hands carry a hundred small scars from the knives she has come to favor and she moves with a hunters silent step now: a smooth rolling motion front the heel through the ball of the foot. 

She can take down both man and beast, and she shouldn't scared of the boy in front of her still sleeping soundly. Although, she supposes the word boy is inappropriate. Scott has grown, blossomed, long before thus summer. He is already well on his way to being a man. 

She wants to touch his face so badly, just to know that this is real. Her hand hovers indecisively between them. Between one breath and the next, Scott’s brown eyes open. 

Or maybe they’ve always been open. But he smiled unself-consciously. Easily. 

Allison feels the corner of her mouth lift in response. It's wordless this thing they have, but it doesn't need words. It feels sheltered here, a peace made only in the night. Finally, she lets her palm rest against his cheek, before her fingers thread gently into his hair. 

His fingers find her waist and it makes so much sense to kiss him. The warmth of his mouth and his fingers on her skin feel so natural. They only stop kissing long enough for her to remove her shirt. 

He fumbles his over his head and she tackles them to the bed, a laugh low in her throat. He cushions their fall, laughing on his own behalf. It’s so easy, the two of them together. 

She still knows where he keeps his condoms and she pulls one foil packet out as he fumbles with his pants. She rolls it onto him quickly, hands graceful and sure. They share this the two of them.   
He balances her for that first thrust, sweet and tight and somehow perfect. She rides him like she’ll never get another chance. Or maybe that this is the first of many chances. Many late nights and lazy early mornings. 

They match now the two of them. They can both be violent, both be gentle, both be vicious, both be anything everything. 

Humanity has long been conflated from one’s inclusion in the species homo sapiens, to one’s ability to empathize, to feel for another human being. Scott’s not human, not anymore. But in this at least, he retains just as much as she does. 

It’s fickle and fleeting, but maybe together they can hold to this ideal of humanity.

* * *

**25**

**Inspired By:** _**“Little pig, little pig, let me in. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.”**_ \-- Three Little Pigs (Green Jelly)  
[Source](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CYwNWHZuT0)

**_It needs but slight provocation to make the wolf devour the lamb._** \-- As quoted in Henry G. Bohn, _A polyglot of foreign prove_ [Source](http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Wolves)

Whoever decided it was a good idea to leave Derek and Stiles in charge of Scott and Allison’s eleven month old for the night is clearly an idiot. Derek just wants it stated for the record.

Mason starts crying the moment his parents walk out the door, and after a feeding, two diaper changes, and several games of Peek-a-boo, he’s still screaming at the top of his lungs hours later.

Derek’s ready to give up and call Scott to come back, but Stiles insists that he’s got one more trick up his sleeve as Derek heads downstairs to grab a glass of water.

An awful sound wafts down the stairs towards the kitchen as he’s putting the glass in the sink, one that’s so much worse than any baby’s cries.

_“Little pig, little pig, let me in. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.”_

Green Jelly. Oh God. Derek runs. When he barrels into the temporary nursery, Stiles is pacing, holding a surprisingly silent Mason in his arms and bouncing him to the music-- if you could call it that.

“What the hell is this?” Derek says, grabbing for the ipod and promptly turning it off.

“Hey, that’s my werewolf playlist!” Stiles cries, gently shifting Mason in his arms.

Derek ducks out of his way and starts scrolling through the playlist instead. _Hungry Like the Wolf_ , _She-Wolf_ , _Lone Wolf_. Derek rolls his eyes. _Night of the Wolf_ , _Run With the Wolf_ , _Cry Wolf_ , and then...

“Clap for the Wolfman, Stiles? _Really_?”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he says, carefully placing Mason into his crib. “And Mason obviously liked it if he stopped crying.”

Derek huffs, because it’s at least partly true. “Are you purposely trying to drive me crazy, or...?”

Stiles laughs. “Well, you know what they say: it needs but slight provocation to make the wolf devour the lamb.”

Derek’s mouth falls open, and whatever he’d been about to say vanishes from his brain in a puff of smoke.

“What?”

Stiles shrugs.

“Exactly _who_ says that, Stiles?”

“Uh, you know...” he waves his hand around, shrugging. “The ever elusive _’they’_. Very powerful force. You wouldn’t wanna mess with them.”

Derek’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “Riiiiight.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s an old Danish proverb that I stumbled across a couple years ago. I thought it was kind of cool. Sue me.” Stiles smirks.

“You,” Derek says, shaking his head, “are an idiot.”

Stiles’ grin is almost blinding as he steps forward into Derek’s space, reaching up to wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “I know.”

Then Derek is kissing him. Because Stiles is an idiot, but he’s also ridiculous and brilliant and kind of awesome. And they need to be having sex right now.

“Ahh, not in front of the baby. Scott would kill me,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s mouth, grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the room.

They barely make it past the threshold before Derek presses Stiles up against the wall, licking his way into Stiles’ mouth again. The sight of Stiles calming a baby shouldn’t be such a turn-on, but God help him, it is. He presses his entire body into Stiles, rocking his hips forward, relishing in the feeling of Stiles against him, his dick already hardening in his jeans.

“I’ll show you how a wolf devours a lamb,” he says, sinking to his knees. Stiles’ eyes widen, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest as Derek frees his dick, wraps his mouth around the head, swirling his tongue across the slit until Stiles moans obscenely.

“Lame,” Stiles says, breathy. But his eyes are closed, head tilted back against the wall, the fingers scraping against Derek’s scalp telling another story. Derek sinks lower, taking as much of Stiles into his mouth as he can, sucking and hollowing out his cheeks as Stiles edges towards his release. When he comes a moment later with a cry that should wake the dead (yet miraculously doesn’t rouse the baby), Derek swallows every last drop before Stiles is pulling him up into a bruising kiss, leading him towards the bedroom.

\--

“Just so you know, you’re banned from ever playing that werewolf playlist for our kids,” Derek says later, when they’re curled around each other in bed, the baby asleep in the other room.

Derek feels more than hears Stiles’ laugh against his neck. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

* * *

**26**  
 **Inspired By:**  
"Woman's destiny is to be wanton, like the bitch, the she-wolf; she must belong to all who claim her." The Marquis de Sade

Erica eyes Derek’s flaccid dick with open disgust.

“This is never going to work,” Derek says. He heaves a diva-like sigh and starts pulling on his pants. “I just think of you more as a sister.”

Erica stares. “Well that is super-duper sweet of you, Derek, but what the _hell_ am I supposed to do while you’re off thinking of me as a sister? Spend my heats in unendurable agony?”

Derek grimaces and fumbles over to the desk and pulls out a pad of paper. “I’ll give you the number of a facilitator.”

“A facili— oh. You mean a whore.”

“No,” he says, scribbling a name. “I mean a facilitator. They help people who are related to their packmates. I used one back when Laura was my Alpha.”

He thrusts a piece of paper at Erica’s face. _Stiles_ , it says, and a phone number.

“He’s good,” Derek says. “Just tell him you’re in my pack, and you want a full-day appointment.”

Erica blinks. “ _He_?” She cocks her head to one side and re-evaluates some assumptions she’d made about her Alpha.

Derek fucking _blushes_. Well.

Erica gazes down at the paper with new respect.

*

“Stiles” is a creamy little thing with bronze-colored eyes and moles down his neck that make it look like someone spilled chocolate sprinkles on him. Derek is _never hearing the end of this_ , Erica decides through the haze of lust.

“Hmmm,” Stiles murmurs as he fastens the restraints at her wrists and ankles. “You look a little farther gone than you said on the phone. Something get you going?”

Erica swallows with a click. She’s naked and laid out flat on some cross between a massage table and a butcher board. Her cunt feels swollen, hot. “There was a…a woman in the waiting room.”

Understatement. There’d been a motherfucking goddess in the waiting room, all red hair and red lips and thighs so white they could probably replace Erica’s recommended daily value of dairy.

Stiles grins knowingly as he begins rubbing oil into his hands. “That would be Lydia. She owns the place.” He takes in Erica’s face, considering. “Actually. Would you like her to join us?”

“Um.”

“Pretty sure she’s free for the next hour. I’ll go get her.”

“Um.” But he’s already out the door. Even the thought of that woman in here is too much; Erica closes her eyes and groans into the shift. Her claws itch as they extend, and her mouth waters around her fangs.

She drifts for a moment.

“Well look at _you_ ,” she hears. “God, sometimes I think Derek picks ‘em just to please me.”

Um, what? Erica opens her eyes to ask exactly how many members of her pack have come here, but the woman—Lydia—is peering down at her thoughtfully while stripping off her bra. Her breasts have just enough weight to drop and swing when she does it, and her pretty pink nipples make Erica moan out loud.

“You like tits, huh?” Lydia looks delighted and licks her pointer like she’s going to turn a page…and then paints a wet circle around Erica’s right nipple.

“Fucking fuck _fuck_ ,” Erica gasps, arching off the table.

“Oh that’s good,” Lydia croons, and god help her, Erica is even turned on by that condescending voice. “Let’s start there. Stiles, give her a couple fingers.”

She’d nearly forgotten about Stiles; he appears on the other side of the table and slips two long fingers into her cunt. And then proceeds to…do nothing.

Erica growls. “Need more.” She’s open enough to take an Alpha knot, for god’s sake.

“Gotta pace yourself, sweetie,” Lydia says, and draws painstakingly slow, slick swirls around Erica’s nipples. Erica’s spine liquefies in a hot little stream that bottoms out in her pelvis, and it’s too much, too much, when Lydia suddenly sucks a nipple into her mouth. Erica’s first orgasm of the night goes through her like a punch.

Lydia hums proudly. “Excellent start. Stiles?”

Stiles, it seems, has slipped all five fingers inside Erica when she was coming. She dazedly watches him brace his other hand against the table, and his biceps and shoulders flex—

“Oh holy hell,” Erica whispers. That’s a fist. Stiles has his _fist_ inside her. Erica clenches around it, her whole body a sweet, throbbing pulse centered on Stiles’ hand.

Lydia leans down until Erica can see nothing but eyelashes and lipstick and _smug_. “This is gonna be fun. Brace yourself.”

* * *

**27**  
 **Inspired By:** The wolf thought to himself, what a tender young creature. What a nice plump mouthful...”  
\- The Brothers Grimm LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

 

The wolf stalks through the forest on silent feet, his muzzle lifting to the wind as it brings him the scent of his prey. His tongue lolls out and his lips draw back in anticipation. His prey is close. This hunt will soon end.

He doesn’t remember how this chase started, just the instinct to chase had been overwhelming when he caught the human’s scent and heard his pounding heartbeat. Something itches at the back of his mind, screaming that this isn’t right. He shakes his head and growls, scenting the air and looking up with flashing eyes.

There before him stands his prey. The man’s hand is outstretched, as though he is reaching for the animal; and the wolf cocks his head, confused. His mouth moves, and the wolf is surprised to understand the words.

“Derek,” the man says. “Derek, please. You need to change back.” The wolf shakes his head, the words itching over his skin and sinking deep. He shivers.

Raising his nose to the wind, the wolf whimpers. There is worry in the air, and the acrid stench of frustration and anger. But there is no fear and this confuses him. Man is meant to fear the greater predators. Why does this man not fear him?

The wolf pads cautiously to the man, sniffing deep, drawing in the smells that surround them. He growls as his own scent washes over him, a scent that clings closely to the man. Pouncing, he knocks the man to the ground, ignoring his angry protests and shoving hands as he rakes his claws through cloth, searching out their combined smell. 

Bare before him, the wolf drags his nose down the length of the man’s body. Gasping breath reaches his ears as he licks across the man’s chest, tasting him and beginning to pant as sense memories invade his mind. Something about this man’s taste, his smell, the _noises_ he’s making tickle at the back of the wolf’s mind, as though he should know --

The wolf noses at the thick, half-hard cock in front of him and breathes in deep. The scent of them is stronger here, and he licks gently until the man’s erection stands stiff and proud between them.

The man -- _Stiles_ floats to the top of his thoughts -- moans and scrambles at the dirt with bent fingers. The wolf whines when he opens his legs and the strongest scent of _them_ wafts up and wraps around him. His head darts down, and he licks at Stiles’ hole as Stiles writhes and thrusts and moans his pleasure.

“Dereks,” Stiles pants. “Derek, please. I need -- I need --” He keens when the tip of the wolf’s tongue presses past the tight muscle, and the urge to mount this man, to claim him, overwhelms him.

Panting harshly, he crawls up Stiles’ body until he feels the tip of his penis against the warm hole. With a hard thrust, he howls as he sinks in deep and then howls again, louder, as his muscles and bones crack and change and suddenly Derek is himself, a writhing moaning Stiles beneath him in the dirt. 

“Der -- Derek,” Stiles pants. “So glad to have you back, buddy.” A firm hand on Derek’s ass stops him from pulling out, and he looks down to see Stiles watching him. 

“Stiles, I --” Derek shakes his head and takes in the clearing around him. How he got here returns to him slowly, and he feels his fangs reappear when he remembers the witch and the spell she cast on them. A gentle hand on his cheek quiets the growl that rolls deep in his chest. 

“It’s okay,” Stiles reassures him. “Just -- We can -- Later. Definitely later. Can we --?”

Derek moans as Stiles rolls his hips. He’s still upset about the circumstances that led to this, but a warm and willing Stiles pushes all of that away. Leaning up, he catches Stiles’ lips in a bruising kiss, thrusting his tongue in for a taste as he starts to drive into Stiles. 

It doesn’t take long to develop a punishing rhythm between them, their moans and cries reverberating through the woods around them. Derek can feel himself getting close; and he reaches down between them, surprised when Stiles comes from barely a touch. The warm clench pulls Derek’s orgasm out of him, and he howls his pleasure to the moon.

* * *

**28**  
 **Inspired By** : Romulus and Remus, the Roman twins suckled by a she-wolf:  
 _"He ordered the twins drowned in the river. The water shrank / From the crime: and the boys were left there on dry land. / Who doesn’t know that the children were fed on milk / From a wild creature, and a woodpecker often brought them food?"_ -Ovid, Fasti

Stiles shivers in their wolf den despite the fur blanket draped over him. His whines bring Scott, who lies down and hooks his chin over Stiles' neck, making him sleepy. The smoothness of Scott's skin is so different from the downy fur of the other wolves. What was that word the strange half-human, half-wolf pack had taught them? _Brother_. 

*

The years pass. One day when Scott returns to their camp, his eyes have gone bright yellow and the muscles on his chest are newly massive. That's how Stiles knows.

He strokes the wolf resting in his lap to still his agitation. "You don't even smell like us now." The fire is warm enough that Stiles wears only the strip of cloth around his waist that the Hales insisted on the last time they visited. _We're teaching you to be human_. 

Scott glares. "Don't start." His feet are crusted with dirt, but the rest of him is clean, his skin a resplendent brown. "How else will I protect you when the Hunters discover we're still alive? I had to get the bite."

" _This_ is our family." It's an old argument. In spite of the danger, Stiles wants to stay with the wolves who raised them after they'd been left to die of exposure, twins cursed with the werewolf gene. Always the potential to turn. The wolf in Stiles' lap cranes her neck to inspect him, sensing the tension even though she's unable to understand the language the werewolves taught them. Stiles licks the wolf's jaw. 

"I'm joining the Hales. Come with me," Scott says.

"Go to hell." Stiles rises, pushing the wolf off his lap. He must get away, so he darts into the woods, finding comfort in the damp earth beneath his hands and feet. He's made it just beyond the stream when he realizes he's being followed. Fast as he is, he's no match for Scott now, and he's toppled suddenly, the two clutching each other and rolling on the forest floor.

Scott gains dominance and presses his teeth against the back of Stiles' neck. Beneath the scent of the Hales, Scott's old smell fills Stiles with longing. Just last night they slept in each other's embrace. He can't hate Scott. They are pack. Stiles goes slack, the fight gone out of him. When Scott backs off, Stiles gets on his hands and knees, exposing himself to signal his submission. Scott circles him, inspecting.

Stiles doesn't move even when Scott treads behind him and sniffs his hole, but when he licks, Stiles jolts. Although Stiles has watched the other wolves do this to each other, none have ever touched him there. Once begun, Scott doesn't stop; he swipes his tongue again and again over Stiles' entrance. It should be a comforting reassurance that Scott also wants reconciliation, but instead Stiles finds himself inexplicably hot all over, his cock hardening like it does when Scott strokes his thighs at night. Stiles succumbs to the urge to thrust, and he's rewarded with rougher pressure from Scott's tongue, and then the intrusion of fingers creates a hungry ache. A growling noise tells him Scott has shifted. 

He knows what will happen next, what Scott will do, but it frightens and thrills him anyway when Scott mounts him, the momentum knocking Stiles face-first onto the ground where fallen leaves and grass anchor his awareness in the smell of home. He's unprepared for Scott's first thrust, the way Scott's cock claims him, how it hurts so much that Stiles whines in supplication until Scott's movements still. Scott's claws dig into his arms, and their faces are so close Stiles can hear Scott's ragged breath. Stiles tilts his head and licks near Scott's mouth, then nips his chin with tender bites until his own body relaxes under the comforting weight of his brother. 

"Don't leave us," he says.

"No," Scott murmurs as Stiles laves his cheek.

Stiles shifts his hips then and whimpers in demand, and Scott moves into him again, fucking him slow as a growl builds in his throat. Stiles isn't scared anymore, not scared at all—he's never felt this close to Scott before, never felt this _right_. They come at the same time and Scott knots him, pulling Stiles onto his side and hugging him tight as they nuzzle and stroke one another in the darkness. Scott has mated him, and Stiles has allowed it; they both know what this means. 

Scott sniffs Stiles' exposed throat and licks, whispers, "Now I'm alpha."

* * *

**29**  
 **Inspired By:** "In the Woods with the Werewolves" by the Exlovers – specifically "I have tried to build a home inside my head. You will find me in the woods with the werewolves."

Stiles had spent a lot of time thinking about what Derek would say when he told him that he was into him. OK _technically_ he hadn't had much time to think about anything between writing term papers and packing up all his stuff for the return to Beacon Hills, but he'd never had much time for anything back when he'd been in high school and that had never stopped him. He'd mostly thought about it in the shower, and in bed….so OK, SOMETIMES he'd thought that it might not go too well, but he'd mostly imagined a good outcome. He'd dwelt on the naked aspect. He'd put a lot of time into imagining the feel of Derek's arms around him, the way Derek's stubble would feel under his lips, the sounds he'd make as Stiles trailed kisses along his jaw. He'd actually come from that alone a couple of times, before he even managed to get to the part where he'd get his hands on Derek's cock, when Derek would open his mouth and pant as Stiles used his mad skills to drive him completely wild. Stiles knew he had mad skills: no one had jerked off more than he had back in high school and the guys he'd been with in college had been very complimentary. He spent a lot of time touching himself and imagining that he was touching Derek, wondering whether Derek would appreciated the tiny scrape of nails, the same twist at the tip. He wanted to find out what made Derek feel good and get him into that fucked-out state where you're covered in sweat and come and all you want to do is snuggle.

It had taken several months of imagining him and Derek thing to get to the point where Derek touched him back. Stiles had plenty of memories of Derek's hands on him, that wasn't the issue. He knew exactly how Derek's hands felt around his biceps because he'd experienced that when Derek slammed him against the wall, and he knew what it felt like to have Derek's hand on the back of his head from the time Derek had tapped him against the steering wheel. It was just…so, Derek tended to kind of parade himself, and who wouldn't if they had that body? It was like the guy was allergic to shirts, and Stiles had held him up in the swimming pool for two hours, he knew what that body felt like against his. But Derek…Stiles couldn't think of one single time when he'd seen Derek touch anyone that wasn't wolf stuff, either training or…emphasis, or whatever the hell he thought he was doing when he put his hands on Stiles. So Stiles was having a little trouble imagining a version of Derek that would put his hands on someone for fun, because he wanted to make them feel good. Derek just wasn't a feel-good sort of person.

Stiles had tried imagining Derek jerking off but he hadn't got as far as he'd expected because he couldn't work out a way that Derek wouldn't just be punishing himself, and though the thought of Derek stripping his cock just to satisfy the biological need kind of turned him on in a weird way, it mostly made him a little sad. He did get some mind-blowing orgasms thinking about the hate-sex they could have, if he could get Derek to touch him in the first place, but that wasn't really what he was looking for. Stiles didn't want to put a word to what he was looking for, knew he wasn't anywhere near ready for that, but he was pretty sure that hate and rage weren't a big part of it.

So Stiles hadn't made a move before he went to college, and he hadn't made a move at Christmas or during Spring Break. He'd made sure to see Derek every time he was in town, to send him emails (some of which Derek had even replied to!) and even the odd text. He'd like to think that Derek didn't know how Stiles had been thinking about him, but Stiles knew that he wasn't exactly subtle and that Derek had probably caught a clue at some point. He'd seemed a little softer somehow in the spring, had even texted Stiles before finals to wish him luck. Stiles wasn't sure what Derek would say, whether Derek would be interested at all but he thought that he was finally ready to speak up.

* * *

**30**  
 **Inspired By:** But I can’t compete with the she-wolf, who has brought me to my knees. What do you see in those yellow eyes? (“She Wolf” Falling to Pieces) David Guetta

“She has to be here, somewhere,” Derek said as they stood on the edge of the forest. He gestured to Boyd. “You go south. There’s a hunter’s cabin about two miles from here. She might’ve gone that way.”

Boyd looked into the gloomy forest. It was an odd thing, this lack of fear he had now that he was a werewolf. In his past life, he would never have dared venture into the woods alone. But though fear no longer hindered him, something else did. Something familiar. Envy.

“What if she’s hurt?” Stiles said. “I should bring a first-aid kit.”

“You have one?” Derek asked.

“Sure do.” Stiles took a step away. “Back at the house.” Derek grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. “It won’t take me more than an hour or so--“

Derek shoved him forward. “You’re the reason she’s out there, hurt and scared. _Go._ ” He glanced at Boyd. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yes.”

Derek eyed him. For a moment, Boyd could feel the rake of Derek’s judgment. He knew, of course, how Boyd felt about Erica--about her ability to change completely into a wolf. Something he couldn't do. Under Derek’s scrutiny, he slowly unclenched his fisted hands and nodded. 

The others took off and Boyd went the direction Derek had told him to go. Once he was sure the others were gone, he broke into a run, anger and jealousy, and fury at himself for both, fueling his speed. It didn’t take long to catch her scent, and it only took a moment to decide not to call for help. He wanted to see her for himself, what she had become. To understand why it was _she_ who could take the form of a real wolf, which he was denied.

The tinge of blood in the air made his nostrils flare. It sharpened, drawing a growl deep from within him as he leaped over a last log and up a rock-strewn trail. It was dark here, with only a few patches of the half-moon peeping through the trees. He didn’t need to see to know he’d found her, that she’d hidden inside the cabin he now stood outside.

He willed his heart to still. He knew she knew he was outside; she was a wolf, after all. But he wanted to approach her calmly, and not scare her off. He wanted to be alone with her, and make her tell him how she did it. She had to tell him. _Had to._

He pushed the door open, stood in the doorway. A shaft of moonlight shone through the window. Then he saw her, yellow eyes gleaming. He could smell her fear, the wariness as she waited for him to do something. Her growl was soft, but a warning nonetheless.

Boyd took another step into the room, then slowly fell to his knees. The she-wolf stared at him for a long moment, until he said, “How? How did you do it?”

She didn’t answer, but shuddered, and as he watched, the she-wolf lifted her head and cried a long, mournful cry as her body shimmered, undulating with the change. There was a cut on her neck. He watched, transfixed, his jealousy forgotten as the wolf turned her back to him, and became a beautiful, naked girl, her head hung with exhaustion as she offered herself to him. 

His cock swelled, straining for release. She spread her legs and waited, made him growl; he ripped off his clothes and mounted her, his hands dark on her pale skin as he speared her without hesitation. She threw her head back in a snarl, her body shifting between animal and girl, squeezing his cock and pushing hard against him, soft skin and fur. He sank his nails into her flesh, each thrust pounding her toward the floor but she withstood him, panting hard and arching her back up to meet him each time.

Time and place fled from Boyd’s mind. It was only he and his she-wolf bitch beneath him. He could feel his knot forming; the realization nearly knocked him from his rhythm as the skin beneath his palms shifted back to fur, and his own body began to quiver, every inch of his skin bursting as he joined his mate. 

He came then, a howl of triumph tearing from his lips, his fur dark against her pale as he plunged into her one last time, locking himself into place inside his bitch.

* * *

**31**  
 **Inspired By:**  
Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart  
drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart - Howl by Florence and the Machine

**The Fabric of Your Flesh**

It was fucked up.

But it didn’t stop them.

It was a secret, between the two of them. At first they worked hard at keeping it that way but now it was just something _they didn’t talk about_. No one. 

Not them.

Not the pack.

Not the humans.

Everyone shut up and looked the other way.

But every time Allison dragged her nails across Isaac’s chest, watched the bright red marks streak across his chest as she rode him hard in the garage while her dad drank himself stupid in the living room--it sent a thrill through her.

She wanted the marks to stay. She wanted them to be _seen_. 

She knew the wolves could smell her on him every time he returned to the loft but she wanted everyone to see him wearing her mark, her touch and her goddamn claim on him.

Isaac didn’t complain once and he didn’t even flinch when she drew blood. He didn’t shy away when she carved a swath across his skin with the tip of one of her arrows. He stood tall when she brought out the very knives she once felled him with.

He accepted her.

He fucked her everywhere she wanted, any time she wanted.

Up against the lockers in the change room after practice, forcing her cheek against the cool metal while he pounded into her relentlessly. Her skirt was rucked up around her waist and she demanded he tear a hole in her tights instead of pushing them down. 

“Just _fuck me_ ,” Allison gritted out, shoving her ass against Isaac’s hard cock. 

He did and they did and afterwards, when she held him against her so he shot into her she whispered that she would leave them on all evening with him dripping out of her. She left him standing in the locker room with his mouth hanging open.

Allison tried to get him alone in the loft, wanted to force their dangerous game further. Isaac steadfastly refused, only got as far as eating her out in the dirty alley behind the building. Even then Isaac hesitated and shuffled his feet, not wanting to tempt Derek’s wrath.

Allison grabbed his face and brought it close to her own, licking up the side of his jaw. “Just do it,” she whispered in a fake sweet way.

She could feel his unease and growing irritation with her in the way his tongue rolled over her. He got quicker and fore forceful. He tried to use his fingers to finger her but she batted it away, annoyed. Isaac frowned up at her, then leaned in and nipped quick, sending her over the edge as she humped his face.

“Now you’re getting it,” she whispered.

He wanted to try it in a bed, her bed. Allison shrugged a “why not” and waited for Chris to pass out before opening the window.

This time was different. Allison sped up, Isaac slowed down. She pushed his head down, he held her hands and kissed them. She tried to flip onto her stomach but Isaac ghosted a hand over her belly and pushed into her slowly.

He stared down at her, his mouth parted and gaze unwavering. She tried to look away, to force her hips up to meet his but he had the strength and he kept it at his pace. 

He rubbed her clit with his thumb deliberately, bringing her close and close before backing off and wringing more frustrated moans from her.

“Goddammit Isaac, just _fuck_ me, already!” Allison cried, twisting her own nipple.

“I am,” he replied calmly, then he leaned down and kissed her. A sweet, tender kiss that was too brief and too soft and too _much_.

Allison clenched around Isaac and cried out, grabbing at his body that cradled her while he came, as well. He slumped to the side of her and nuzzled her neck, held her close.

The sweat didn’t even have a chance to cool before Allison pushed him off and rolled out of bed. She grabbed up his clothes and threw them at him.

“Get out. Now.”

“I-” Isaac started but one look at Allison and he was gone, even before pulling on his jeans. 

Out the window like a whisper even louder than the sob that escaped in a moment of weakness.

* * *

**32**  
 **Inspired By:** _On a hot summer night. Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?_ ~ Meatloaf’s **You took the words right out of my mouth**

“What the hell, man!” Stiles pulls away from Derek’s kiss and twists out of the sudden embrace. “You can’t just--”

“Stiles?” Derek’s looking at him like Stiles is the crazy one, like Derek walking up and just _kissing_ him is everyday shit.

“Is this a joke?” Stiles snaps, wiping his mouth.

It’s only when Derek’s face closes off that Stiles’ recognizes how open, how vulnerable it had been a moment before.

\---

“Derek said you’re acting weird.”

Stiles looks up from his laptop to see Scott sliding his window back closed. “Since when do you talk to Derek?”

Scott blinks at him, looking as confused as Derek had an hour before. After a beat, he says, “Where did you get those claw marks?”

“Huh?” Stiles reaches up to touch the spot on his neck Scott’s staring at and finds a scabbed-over wound “I don’t remember.”

Scott frowns. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

\---

After Scott makes a bunch of whispered phone calls, Lydia shows up.

Stiles endures a couple hundred Yes or No questions; some simple: “Did you take me to the Winter formal?” (Yes); some crazy: “Did Derek kiss you at your birthday party?” (No); some painful: “Where you with your mother when she died?” and “Where you with your first girlfriend when she died?” (No and Yes).

By the time she’s done she’s ghostly white.

\---

Stiles isn’t dumb.

There are pictures of events he no longer remembers taped to his walls, pictures with Derek smiling that Stiles swears must be photoshopped. He wishes the sight of them didn’t do such funny things to his gut.

\---

Derek shows up a few days later, looking at Stiles like Stiles is capable of tearing out his heart with a single word.

He knows Derek’s half expecting him to slam the door in his face. It’s tempting, but if Derek really has smiled at Stiles like in those pictures, if Stiles has _made_ Derek smile like that, well, Stiles deserves those memories back, doesn’t he?

So Stiles opens the door wider. He bares his neck and says, “Show me.”

Derek’s face scrunches up in a way that might be funny any other time. It’s not now. Then he’s sticking his claws into Stiles’ nape, re-opening the nearly healed wounds.

\---

They’re up against a tree, Derek’s hand on Stiles’ dick. He can feel Derek’s nerves in that moment, can guess at his own. This is probably his first time, though it aches that he can’t be sure. Stiles comes in Derek’s palm, with his face buried in the crook of Derek’s shoulder. Derek holds him close as he trembles, not caring about the sticky mess pressed between them.

He feels a flood of emotion as they kiss, and he’s shocked to realize the longing is all Derek’s, that empty hole he feels filling up is Derek’s. It’s Derek’s memory, after all.

A dozen or more memories stream by in a blur. The next he catches starts with soft sheets and a warm breeze floating through Stiles’ open window. They’re slick with sweat but moving lazy and slow against each other, like they’ve done this all night, like they have all the time in the world.

Like this time is to be savored.

Stiles wishes he could remember why.

\---

Derek leaves when he’s done giving all he can. He doesn’t pull Stiles into a passionate embrace like this is a mid-summer romantic comedy. He nods and leaves Stiles alone with his thoughts, with these memories that don’t feel like his.

Stiles sits on his bed, staring at the wall and sifts through them all, deciding if he is able to accept what’s in his head as truth.

\---

Derek gives him time -- a full two weeks -- before he appears at Stiles’ door again. When he does, he has a bouquet of red roses in his hand and a blank expression on his face.

Stiles lets him in, reaches out and strokes his hand down Derek’s cheek. He watches Derek’s eyes flutter shut and feels the thrill of something new growing deep in his belly.

He takes the flowers and Derek’s hand, and leads him inside.

His memories are gone and Derek’s borrowed ones playout like a movie where he is nothing but an audience in someone else’s most intimate moments.

That doesn’t mean he can’t make some new ones.


	7. Group C: No Warnings and Pairings

**33**  
 **Inspired By:**  
"What a terrible big mouth you have!"

"All the better to eat you with!'" (from Little Red Riding Hood)

\----

The definition of their _thing_ was vague at best. Or maybe it was the exact opposite -- maybe it was freakishly specific. Because there were no proclamations or dates or time or even beds. There weren't really any horizontal surfaces. What it was, usually, was a fast fuck against an available vertical space.

There was never time for much else. And Derek had never known how to ask for anything else either. The life-affirming, desperate sex only happened because there hadn't been a need for thinking or asking. But going beyond that, taking other steps, that would mean asking for it, or at the very least suggesting it.

Derek had never been good at asking for things.

As it turned out, taking other steps included less asking than he'd previously thought. Mostly because his werewolf instincts tended to do the decision-making on his behalf at times, and sometimes it did the talking for him.

All it took, in the end, was Stiles smelling like hurt, hospital and blood. And some of it didn't even smell like _his_ blood. It didn't even smell human. It made Derek feel off, like he was looking at the world through glasses that didn't belong to him. And he hated it. The sickening smell stuck in his throat and lodged under his skin until he could no longer stand it.

He eased himself onto the bed, nuzzling his cheek against Stiles' shoulder, wrapping himself around him as if he could cover every part of Stiles with himself. Stiles barely tensed for a moment before he relaxed with a soft sigh.

They fell asleep like that. Stiles went before him, pulled into sleep quickly like he was yanked under. Derek drifted off slowly, inhaling Stiles' steadily decreasing scent of hurt.

\-----

Stiles had turned around during the night because Derek woke to wide eyes studying his face. As he blinked sleep out of his eyes, Stiles looked away. It was awkward. And yet.

The step had already been taken. It was in mid-air, hovering, just needing to touch down. They were in an in-between now, where they did things like nuzzling and sleeping in the same bed with Derek's hand pressed to Stiles' waist.

Derek followed it through. He brought his hand up to Stiles' cheek and fit their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss. It tasted like Stiles and nothing else, and Derek hummed, nudging Stiles' lips apart even further.

The hesitancy seeped out of them, giving way to Stiles’ breathy moans and his own wandering hands; just the same as always, but different all the same. That was the thing about steps: they build on the ones you've already taken. And while it touches down somewhere new, it can, by its nature, never be too far from where it began.

Stiles was still warm with sleep, pliant and easy under Derek’s fingers. He hummed, stretching under Derek’s touch, arching up when Derek wrapped his hand around his cock, moaning quietly when Derek’s thumb brushed over the head. It was like playing an instrument; plucking the right strings at the right time, feeling it vibrate and thrum under his hands.

It was so much easier than he had told himself it would be. He’d held off all this time, thinking it would be complicated and awkward. But it was so easy flipping Stiles over, running both hands down his thighs as he pulled him closer. The moan fell from Stiles’ lips with no effort and his own mouth pressed biting kisses at the small of Stiles’ back as if it’d never done anything else.

He spread Stiles open with his hands. They stilled until the world seemed paused. Stiles held his breath, muscles pulled tight, and it rushed out of him all at once when Derek ran the flat of his tongue over his hole. He clawed at the sheets, pushing his hips up to meet Derek’s mouth.

Stiles broke apart under his tongue, gasping for breath as Derek buried his face against him. When he pressed his tongue inside, Stiles sobbed, fingers white where they clutched the covers.

Derek wondered vaguely if he should ease up, if it was too intense and Stiles needed to breathe, but he didn’t. He fucked Stiles with his tongue until his jaw ached and Stiles was a writhing mess, giving an endless stream of broken sounds.

It no longer smelled like hurt, only come and pleasure and Stiles.

* * *

 **34**  
 **Inspired By:** Under blue moon I saw you // So soon you'll take me // Up in your arms // Too late to beg you or cancel it // Though I know it must be the killing time -- The Killing Moon Echo and the Bunnymen

“You’re going to cry for me babe,” Derek pressed against his hair, voice lisping with the way his fangs distended his lips. 

“As if,” Jackson bit between his teeth. He always started these things defiant, so sure that this time he would show him. 

Derek growled against his neck, a low menacing noise that made Jackson’s knees weak at the same time it sent a shiver of fear through his belly. Sensation was all twisted up somewhere in his spine and turned him lust-stupid instead of terrified. Derek always did screw up things Jackson’s his head until up was down, left was right and fucking him stupid into the ground was _love_. 

Jackson came the first time, thighs spread wide across Derek’s lap. The roughness of Derek’s jeans scraping Jackson’s skin raw as he couldn’t help but fuck into the too-dry grip biting his own lips because Derek wouldn’t tip his head back for a kiss. He made it fast and hard, Jackson’s toes curling, and his nails dragging against Derek’s shirt as he gasped coming all over Derek’s hand. 

Jackson panted bonelessly against Derek’s shoulder. His skin felt prickly-hot, and Derek’s hand smoothing down his back was anything but comforting. 

“Derek,” Jackson hissed. He went tense when Derek pushed his thumb against his hole. He’d been expecting it, but it still sent a jolt through him, nerves a raw mess just after coming. “Don’t.” 

“You can take it,” Derek pressed the sharp edge of his smile against Jackson’s cheek. 

“Douche,” 

Derek punished him by pressing just the end of his finger inside of him, using Jackson’s own come as slick. He arched away from it, skin breaking out in goose bumps. Derek’s other hand came around his neck, pressing his fingers against the scars on the back of his neck and holding him in place. 

“I said you _can_ take it.”

Jackson was breathing deep, shuddering breaths when Derek worked his whole finger into him, pressing his cheek against Jackson’s neck, holding him in place with his hands and body. “Ass up on the bed,” Derek directed, underlining it with a sharp bite to his shoulder. Jackson tried to squirm away, but Derek bit down a little harder and he had to still, breath coming in a sharp, unsure rhythm. 

Coming a second time almost hurt, pulled from somewhere deep inside of him and shooting out while Jackson gasped and moaned writhing face down on the bed, Derek’s fingers pressing against his prostate and pushing him harder and harder into it until he was shouting and twisting to get away. 

Jackson collapsed onto his stomach, sheets sticky and too-hot against his stomach, rolling in his own come like a dog, just trying to breathe through the tightness of his lungs. Derek ran a possessive hand over his shoulder and ribs, letting just the edges of his claws drag to leave puffy pink lines in their wake, smearing lube everywhere and it was almost comforting. 

Jackson rolled away from the stimulation, even that was too much so soon. This was not the plan, Derek grabbed his hair and rolled him back, pinning him face down on the bed and mounting his thighs. 

“Feel done yet?” Derek asked, voice rough and hot. Jackson shivered, rubbing his face against the sheets. 

“Can’t.” 

“But you will.”

He honestly thought he was going to crawl out of his skin while Derek held him wide and open, sinking in hot and hard while Jackson choked on a scream locked in his throat. He already felt raw and used but Derek wasn’t giving him a break. 

Jackson came for the third time, after Derek had fucked him through the mattress and just kept going, pushing his come deeper into Jackson, jerking him until Jackson was hard again.

“No, no, no,” Jackson cried when Derek kept going anyways, jerking him through it and right onto the other side. 

“One more,” Derek demanded, he was going to do it anyways Jackson shook his head from side to side, hiccupping softly, eyes embarrassingly wet. It _hurt_ , not like getting his shoulder dislocated hurt, but something inside of him turning over, pulling itself inside out. “I said you’d cry for me,” Derek sounded pleased and Jackson bit off a sob. 

The fourth one took a long time, his dick felt raw and he felt bruised inside, Derek’s fingers pushing him relentlessly while his body protested the slow drag. 

Jackson came, a cry locked in his throat while Derek kissed him.

* * *

 **35**  
 **Inspired By** : "By using a so-called wolf strap, any person could transform himself into a werewolf. Whoever fastened such a strap around himself would turn into a wolf. If someone called out the name of a person who had turned himself into a wolf, that person would regain his human form."  
[Source](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/werewolf.html#kolberg40): F. Asmus and O. Knoop, "The Werewolf," _Tales and legends from the circle Kolberg-Körlin_ , 1898. (translation, Polish folklore)

**The Wolf Strap**

"Are you sure about this?"

Stiles nods, teeth biting into his lip.

"I don't like it. We can test it on someone else, or get rid of it altogether." Derek paces back and forth, stopping in front of the window to stare at the sliver of moon visible in the sky.

"You know it only works on a human. It might be useful."

"It's too risky." Derek's hands clench into fists. "We've lasted this long without it."

"The Alphas won't stay away forever, and even if they do, there's always something else. And I want—" Stiles runs his fingers over the symbols embossed on the leather strap lying on the table. He crosses the room and rests his chin on Derek's shoulder. "I need to know what it's like."

The belt had been a gift from Peter on the night Derek and Stiles announced their plans to be bonded at the next full moon. Peter spoke of an old magic, one that would allow the wearer to transform into a werewolf. Derek had wanted to destroy it, but Stiles felt a hum of magic when he touched it and his curiosity won out. Days later, armed with pages of notes, Stiles sought Peter out, but he was gone.

"Everything I've read says the change is temporary." Stiles tugs Derek's hip, turning him around. "Derek, I need to know what it's like."

Derek pulls Stiles close, burying his face in the stretch of Stiles' exposed neck. Their breathing synchronizes and when tension bleeds out of Derek's body, Stiles knows he's won. 

"Whatever happens, we'll be okay," Stiles says. "Just don't say my name until it's time for me to change back."

Derek takes a deep breath. "We'd better do this outside."

\--o—

The change begins as soon as Stiles fastens the buckle. His muscles bunch and expand, bones cracking as they lengthen and shift. Coarse hair pushes through too-tight skin and elongated sharp teeth cut into his lips. The magic surges through him, forcing him to his knees. 

It's agony.

He pants through it and when the transformation is complete, Stiles settles back onto his haunches. He feels heavier, more powerful than his wildest expectations. A cacophony of scents and sounds bombard his senses and his inhuman eyes flit from object to object, trying to take everything in.

He hears a shout and whips his head around, setting his sights on another wolf, one with red eyes and claws, but in half-human form. A low growl rumbles in Stiles chest. _Derek_ , his mind supplies. 

Stiles' mouth begins to water. He trots toward Derek cautiously, stretching his neck to sniff him when he gets close.

"Holy shit," Derek says, burying his hands in Stiles' thick fur. "You're a wolf."

Stiles bumps Derek's legs with his head and paws at his feet. Derek tumbles to the ground and Stiles climbs on top of him, tearing at his clothes until they lay in tatters around them. He noses between Derek's thighs, where his scent is most concentrated.

"Wait. Just—" When Derek lifts himself up onto his knees, Stiles whines and scrambles to hold his position. He needs more of Derek's scent, his taste. He licks broad stripes all over Derek's skin, along his back and down the cleft of his ass.

"Okay. It's okay." Derek presses his cheek against damp earth and reaches back to spread himself open. "Go ahead. I want you like this."

Derek's heartbeat thunders in Stiles' ears when he pushes his tongue against his hole, lapping at the tight opening until it's dripping with his saliva. 

Near-wild with his own arousal, he draws himself up and covers Derek's body with his own, rutting against his ass until Derek's body gives and lets him push inside. It's hot and tight and Stiles fucks into him with animalistic ferocity. 

Derek cries out when the base of Stiles' cock begins to swell, but Stiles can't stop. His hips jerk frantically, thrusting until he fills Derek with his come and collapses on top of him. They're tied together, but even if they weren't, he lacks the strength to move.

"God, Stiles, that was incredible." Derek's voice is wrecked. Then he freezes and asks, "Stiles? Why aren't you changing back?"

Stiles licks lazily at his face, the wolf-strap cinched around his middle. 

"Your name," Derek whispers. "Peter knew we wouldn't be able to wait until after the bonding ritual. Stiles, I don't know your given name!"

Stiles throws his head back and howls.

* * *

 **36**  
 **Inspired By:** "Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart, drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart… I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallow'd ground" - Florence and the Machine "Howl"

It’s devastatingly hot. Stiles is sticky with sweat, splattered with blood, but he doesn’t care. He needs this, needs the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of being pressed skin to skin. 

Stiles sinks down slowly on Derek’s cock, knees denting the couch cushions, muscles still trembling from the prior exertion of running the fuck away, panic still a potent remnant in his veins. Stiles’ pulse is a dense thud under his skin, but at least it’s no longer skittering out of control in fear. He lets out a gasp into Derek’s mouth when he settles on Derek’s naked thighs. Derek kisses him, deliberate and filthy, one hand heavy on the back of Stiles’ neck, the other skimming down the line of Stiles’ back, coming to rest on the swell of his ass. 

They stay that way for a long moment, Stiles impaled on Derek’s cock, his own dick dripping pre-come on Derek’s abs while they kiss unhurried, recovering from earlier in the evening. Stiles absently rubs at a streak of blood on Derek’s jaw until it smears into his skin. Derek’s eyes are still tinged with alpha-red but they are clearing now since Stiles is pressed against him, no longer in danger. 

“How do you feel?” Derek mouths against the pulse point in Stiles’ neck. 

Stiles sighs, arches, lifts his body then sinks down again, languid, feeling the drag of Derek’s dick inside of him, reveling in the feeling of being connected. 

“Better,” he breathes. 

“Good,” Derek answers. He moves a large hand to cover the bandage wrapped around Stiles side, fingers spread. He nuzzles against Stiles’ shoulder. “Good.”

Stiles rolls his hips again, moving with more purpose, pleasure surging up his spine. Derek tips his head back, eyes fluttering closed. Stiles licks at the sweat gathered in the hollow of Derek’s throat. Derek moans, hands bruising on Stiles’ hips, supporting Stiles as he fucks himself on Derek’s cock. 

“You came for me,” Stiles stutters out on a particularly sharp thrust down. 

“Always,” Derek grunts. “Will always come for you.”

“It was a trap.”

“I know,” Derek says, trailing pointed teeth over Stiles’ chest. 

“It was dangerous.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Derek –”

“You’re mine,” he growls, snapping his hips up forcefully, punctuating his statement. “You’re mine. No one is taking you from me.”

Derek thrusts harder now, punching little gasps out of Stiles, bursts of pleasure-pain rocketing through Stiles, building in his core. Stiles grips Derek’s shoulders, pants into Derek’s mouth, drags his lips over Derek’s cheek and jaw, until he sucks on Derek’s earlobe. He feels the pinpricks of Derek’s claws in his skin and knows Derek is fighting for control, trying to banish the ache of Stiles’ kidnapping by burying himself in Stiles body, his scent, the beat of his heart.

“Knot me,” Stiles says.

It’s not something they do often, but Stiles needs it. He knows Derek needs it. Stiles has been missing for three days, locked in a room, suffering from panic attacks and from the acute pain of being separated from everyone he loves. He knows Derek has felt it too.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, gaze sharp on Stiles’ face, his own expression open and fragile. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Knot me.”

Derek pulls Stiles off his lap carefully, tips him sideways onto the couch, pushes Stiles’ chest to the cushions with a hand between his shoulder blades. Stiles lays on his stomach, ass in the air, dick hanging hard between his legs. Derek covers him, pants into Stiles’ neck when he slides back in, fucking Stiles with short, powerful jabs, his knot swelling at the base of his dick.

Stiles takes it, loves it, hisses out a string of _yes, fuck, so good_. Derek rubs his cheek on Stiles’ back and Stiles readies himself for the knot. It’s big, and Stiles sucks in a breath, squeezes his eyes shut as Derek pushes in. It burns, but Derek reaches around, jerks Stiles’ cock furiously. 

Everything feels amazing, Derek’s hand tight on his dick, the knot tugging at his rim, Derek’s balls slapping his ass on each shallow thrust, the feeling of being so fucking _full_. Stiles comes with a sob, breaking apart, arms shaking, ass clenching down on Derek’s knot.

Derek pistons his hips a few times more then he comes with a growl, filling Stiles with come. 

Derek eases them down to the couch. Tied together, Derek spooned against Stiles’ back, skin tacky with sweat, Derek’s arms draped protectively around him, Stiles finally feels safe.

* * *

 **37**  
 **Inspired By:** “If you call one wolf, you invite the pack.”

Dating Derek, in a vacuum, was by itself _surprisingly_ easy. Once he opened up, it turns out there's not a lot of bite underneath all that bark. But Stiles knew this already. _Obviously_ he did. It was all validation, vindication, and in a vacuum, it was all great. Perfect. _Fantastic_.

Except sometimes, you know, it meant his life was in danger every other full moon. (It's nearly clockwork by now, the way danger came to town in cycles. Stiles has proof of this. He has _graphs_ , dude.)

Or the fact that Derek's responsibilities as alpha of the pack sometimes carried with it duties that superseded really hot and heavy make-out sessions with Stiles.

"Do you mind?" Stiles asks, squirming beneath the full weight of Derek's body, hoping to hide his major boner underneath Derek's hips. He only succeeds in making Derek groan _just so_ , and ohmygod doesn't his werewolf hearing let him know _they're not alone?_

At least Isaac has the grace to look sorry. "I just--"

"It's been a rough full moon, Stiles," Derek says, moving above him with a sigh. He pulls the two of them to sitting positions, moving so that Isaac has a place on the couch beside him. To Isaac he asks, "Okay?"

Stiles doesn't roll his eyes, growl, or otherwise make a fuss when Isaac curls in against his alpha. This isn't the first time it's happened, and it won't be the last. It was just the way things went, and he's pretty determined to resign himself to that fact.

***

Stiles doesn't realize when he first wakes up-- he just knows he wakes up hard and horny, the last vestiges of a particularly delicious dream ebbing back into his subconscious, a stiffy in his boxers and the warm body of his boyfriend beside him. They've talked about this before, it's not something that's completely new-- once he woke up with the full length of Derek's cock buried in him, and it was _glorious_ \-- so he nudges Derek over, pressing his hips against Derek's, nipping at his skin slowly, leisurely, sucking large red bruises here and there and watching them fade in the dim of the light. 

"Derek..." he whispers, slipping his hand beneath the boxer-briefs Derek loves so much, cupping the curve of Derek's ass with his palm. Squeezing a little, as his cock presses against the flesh. As he flutters sleep-lined lashes against the back of Derek's neck, grazes his teeth against lightly salty skin. Nips. 

Derek makes a sound from deep in his throat, shifts a little, and _aha_ , spreads his legs just a tad.

_Yes._

Stiles grins.

***

Stiles realizes only when he's three fingers deep in Derek and his boyfriend starts to stir, finally mumbling "Wh't're you doin'?" in a breathless, half-whispered question as Stiles's fingers dig against his shoulders and Stiles kicks off his boxers so it hangs around his ankle. He can feel the head of his cock rubbing against his fingers, pressed light against Derek's hole, which suddenly clenches tight around him. 

"What do you think?" Stiles asks, a smirk on his lips as he rolls his hips against Derek, but Derek tenses even further, the length of his back a stiff wall where it normally becomes pliant under Stiles's touch, his breathing almost stilling in the quiet of the night.

His breathing, but not Isaac's.

Who is on the other side of Derek.

Frozen stiff, probably from having smelled Stiles's arousal and having heard what he was doing and having had absolutely no fucking idea what to do about the entire situation.

In a vacuum, dating Derek was easy.

It was dating his pack that was the problem.

* * *

 **38**  
 **Inspired By:** "I'll eat you up, I love you so." from _Where the Wild Things Are_ (book  & movie)

They meet every Tuesday night for sex, Derek driving two hours down the coast to Stiles' dorm room, climbing through his window and sexiling his roommate for the night. It's rough, and they always come quickly, but then they usually go for three or four rounds before Derek leaves in the morning and Stiles collapses into bed, finally sleeping.

It starts about a week before Stiles graduated from high school, and Derek has no idea what triggers it. One minute they're bickering about what makes the best meal for a stakeout, and the next Stiles is in Derek's lap, shoving his tongue down Derek's throat. Things escalate quickly from there.

It's comfortable, it's normal, it's just like what he used to do in New York, only Stiles isn't a stranger and therefore smells… better. Tastes better, too; nothing Derek can put his finger on exactly. Just "better."

He starts to bring Stiles little things – takeout one night, a couple books he'd forgotten at home another, a very battered pin of Bart Simpson yelling "Eat My Shorts!" that he finds at a gas station between here and there. Stiles snorts with laughter, and a few more knick-knacks, past their prime and faded at the edges, make their way from dusty bins in discount gas stations to Stiles' shelf.

Derek doesn't let himself think about why until the night he brings Stiles coffee. Stiles is ensconced in an armchair of his building's common room, surrounded by laptops and the chattering of his Mythology and Folklore project partners. He takes the cup and says, "Ah, Derek, I'll eat you up, I love you so."

All with a casual smile, like it means nothing. And why should it? Derek has given him junk, never saying it came with his heart. His answering smile is brittle. He leaves quickly, though he just drove two hours.

He doesn't go back the next Tuesday.

***

Stiles is in the loft on Wednesday night. Derek sees the Jeep parked on the street and almost turns around, but he just bought milk and it needs refrigeration. No one likes spoiled milk.

Stiles looks up from the couch when he walks in. Derek ignores him.

"This is when you're supposed to talk to me," Stiles says. "See, I'm playing you, driving here. And you're playing me, telling me what's on your mind. Every thought."

Derek grunts.

"With words."

"Let's just fuck."

"Really, Derek?"

And Derek is on him, then, arms to either side, caging him in with his body. Stiles swallows, and Derek lets himself wolf out a bit, exposing a bit of fang. Red leaks into his eyes and he closes his mouth gently on the spot where Stiles' neck joins his shoulder.

"Really," he rasps out, and bites. Stiles moans, long and low, and then things happen like they always happen – clothes coming off, bodies stretching and accommodating one another, sweat and pre-come slicking their skin as they move together – and Derek thinks he can survive this, if he's careful.

Then Stiles leans up, sinking his teeth into Derek's earlobe. "You taste so good; I could eat you up."

Derek pulls out, falling into a corner of the couch. Stiles looks bewildered, his cock hard and leaking, his face flushed.

"What – why?"

"Stop saying that to me," Derek says harshly.

Stiles turns redder. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing! I just – you don't..."

Stiles stares at him. "I'm not actually going to eat you."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Not that part," he mutters.

Stiles crawls across the cushions to him. "The part where I say I love you so?"

"You _don't_." Derek looks away, but Stiles catches his chin.

"But I do." He presses a kiss to Derek's forehead. "You bring me junk you think I'll like." Another kiss. "And junk I need." Another. "And you stay." Another. "And you fuck me, too, even though you knew what I was like in high school. That part's a bonus."

Stiles pushes against him, lowers himself into Derek's lap like he did the first time they kissed. He presses his human teeth to the thin skin on Derek's neck and breathes in.

_I'll eat you up, I love you so,_ Derek thinks to himself.

Stiles smiles against his neck, like he can hear, and Derek fucks up into him. His heart is in his throat when he comes, and Stiles kisses him through it, like he can see it there, on the tip of Derek's tongue, an offering.

* * *

 **39**  
 **Inspired By:** "If only you could see the beast you've made of me, I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free,"  
"Howl" ~ Florence and the Machine

Derek is silent on the drive home. Stiles on the other hand yells, waves his hands in the air, sharp gestures deepening the bruised scent of aching flesh until Derek thinks he might snap the steering wheel in half.

Walking up to the apartment Stiles shifts to whispering about 'trust' and how 'he knew what he was doing'. The lower volume is more about the bruises ringing his neck than any attempt to stay quiet.

Derek unlocks the front door, Stiles at his heels with, "Seriously, Derek, have you heard a single thing I've said? Are you just going to stand there --"

He gasps as Derek's hand closes on the back of his shirt and proceeds to drag him to the bedroom. He pushes Stiles hard enough to send him sprawling across the bed.

Stiles twists around, his voice cracking down the middle. "Derek?"

"I told you to stay here." Derek can feel the burn as his wolf claws toward the surface. "But you didn't listen." His words start to grind around the edges, half snarl and all fury. "You really should have listened."

If Derek were in a better state of mind it would matter that Stiles tries to run, but now it sends him darting forward with a snarl, catching Stiles' ankle in an iron grip and dragging him back. He pins Stiles on his stomach.

"Derek, what are you doing?" Derek can hear Stiles' heart going rabbit fast. "Don't fight me, Stiles."

He uses his claws to deal with Stiles clothes, ignores Stiles' yelps and flailing arms. One hand between Stiles' shoulder blades keeps him in place while he reaches for the lube.

"Derek, talk to me here." Derek forces Stiles' legs open with a knee. There's a hiss as Derek gets a finger inside, the sweet scent of gathering arousal mixed with fear, hips bucking beneath his hold as he adds another. "Derek, stop --"

With a snarl Derek pulls out and with one hand on Stiles' back, unzips his fly. He's still snarling as he makes a haphazard attempt to smooth some lube on his cock. He pulls Stiles up onto his knees and thrusts in. It's not a smooth slide, but the rich scent of Stiles' helpless arousal only fades instead of disappearing completely, not that it would stop him, not now, but it helps to soothe the rage that's licking at his insides.

Derek stops once he's fully seated, still growling as he feels the tension thrumming through the body beneath him. He listens to Stiles gasp for breath, a tangled mess of bruised flesh, lust, and fear.

"-- the fuck, Derek. What is this?"

Still defiant, even afraid and smelling like bruises. Derek forces Stiles down onto his belly, pins him still with his weight and his cock, licks at the back of his neck once, twice, before biting down. Stiles yelps, pawing at the bedspread before Derek catches his wrists, biting harder with human teeth. He can feel the twitches and jerks as Stiles' panics, still fighting, because he never listens.

And Derek hit his limit when he heard Stiles scream, who should have been safe here, saw him hoisted up with the dryad's fingers around his throat. As the memory flashes behind his eyes Derek's teeth clamp down harder, angry that Stiles is still defying him.

It takes Derek by surprise when he hears it, a low moan that sounds wrecked, Stiles relaxing beneath him all at once. Stile's submission hits across all of Derek's senses, and in response his anger fades. He rumbles approval as he bathes Stiles' neck with his tongue.

"That...hurt, asshole," Stiles mumbles.

"I told you not to fight me." His wolf finally soothed by Stiles' submission, Derek is gentle coaxing him up onto his knees. He slowly pulls out and thrusts back in, is satisfied when he smells a fresh wave of arousal from Stiles. He keeps the pace slow and steady, every thrust angled to hit Stiles' prostate. It doesn't take much to send Stiles over the edge then, and Derek with him, still tasting Stiles' submission on the back of his tongue.

Derek hooks a hand around Stiles' waist and pulls him back against his chest, where he can lick and nuzzle at the bite mark that has already started to bruise.

"We're going to talk about this," Stiles manages to say around a yawn, body lax as he starts to drift off.

"Yes," Derek agrees. "We are."

* * *

**40**  
 **Inspired By:**  
 _A typical Nice Guy, the Huntsman:_  
his aim is to own and defeat me  
"Wolf," I said, "you want what I want,  
so get on your knees then, and eat me." 

\---

It's easy for Stiles to slip into this skin, once everybody's gone. Filing out the door one by one, checking their phones or making plans, not at all noticing Stiles left behind on the couch, Derek keeping watch from the doorway. Stiles shakes himself out, head and shoulders, hands and wrists, thighs spreading wide now that he isn't smushed between Boyd and Isaac. His jeans are tight already, and he adjusts himself, sighing. 

Derek's return is quiet; he's still all hard lines and stiff set mouth. His nose flares and Stiles tilts his chin up, lips wet and parted. It's all Derek needs to sink into it, knees falling to the couch on either side of Stiles' thighs, hands framing his face.

Each kiss works Derek a little loser, softer. A suckle to his lower lip, a nip at the corner. Stiles' tongue light and quick, chasing the rumbling sounds Derek makes. He strokes his palms along Derek's back, slow and firm, working the tension from his spine. On one upward pass, he tangles his fingers in Derek's hair, fingertips kneading the scalp until the gel's all worked out and Derek's kisses turn fumbling and eager.

Stiles' hands slide down again, and they don't stop until they find smooth skin. He helps Derek peel off his henley, and then a hand falls to Derek's shoulder and squeezes, thumb digging into the hollow of Derek's throat. Derek's breath catches, his eyes going dark. He's hard in his jeans, but he's got a bit of a wait yet. It's Stiles who gets off first, asserting his dominance over Derek to give him an out, a way to shed the burden he was never supposed to have.

Derek takes his time, here, sliding to the floor, opening Stiles' jeans slow, nudging them and Stiles' boxers down little by little, until Stiles' shoes come off, then his pants. Stiles takes his own shirt off, shuddering once in the cool air. Derek's mouth at Stiles' groin is a nice contrast; hot and wet, his inhales long and deep, exhales gusting cool over the sticky tip of Stiles' cock.

Stiles' hands fall to Derek's hair, combing it into messy tufts (only Stiles gets to know this, how soft Derek is; his hair and skin and eyes, his voice, the sounds he makes sucking Stiles down.), scraping his nails over Derek's scalp until Derek shivers and gasps, open mouth hovering over Stiles' dick. Derek would wait forever if Stiles made him, but Stiles doesn't, sinking into the slick wet heat as he pulls Derek in.

Derek groans, tongue sliding down Stiles' cock, tracing the veins on the way back up, then the frenulum. He uses a hint of teeth at the crown, dragging them over Stiles' slit, and Stiles gasps, hands tightening in Derek's hair to thrust in hard. The surprise of it has Derek's eyes tearing up. His hands squeeze Stiles' calves and he grunts, clear signs he's ready for whatever Stiles wants to give him.

Tonight Stiles wants it hard and fast; there's been a buzz under his skin all day, anticipation of the pack meeting sparking hot, and he wants to get his first orgasm out of the way, _then_ take his time. So, Stiles gets a solid grip on Derek's hair and let his hips find a rhythm.

It's fast and messy, too much spit and no finesse, and there are times when Stiles hits the back of Derek's throat, choking him a little, but Derek can handle it. Needs the control taken from him for a little while, enough for his shoulders to sag and his back to bow. For him to breathe.

It comes quick, just like Stiles wanted, orgasm unfurling heavy in his gut, getting pulled out of him with every wet snuffle from Derek. He doesn't bother to warn Derek before it happens; holds Derek down with a firm hand, hips hitching into Derek's wet mouth, and comes with a low, "fuck," shuddering once when Derek uses his teeth on an upstroke.

Stiles has to take a minute to catch his breath, but he keeps Derek close, his stubble sharp against Stiles' thighs. Derek uses the time to mouth at any skin he can get to; Stiles' balls, the base of his dick. He's breathing heavy, too, and is undoubtedly hard in his jeans, but he's got a few hours yet before that gets taken care of, and Stiles has plenty of ideas to keep them busy until then.

* * *

 **41**  
 **Inspired By:** “A gentleman is simply a patient wolf.” -Lana Turner

**Title:** Beyond Expectations

Danny isn’t looking for Stiles, or anyone like him, when he goes to the Alpha/Omega mixer six months before Heat Week. He only goes because he is obligated to, as the unmated Alpha of the Mahealani Pack. Danny hasn’t needed the mixer in the past, nor does he need it this year. But even though he can technically afford the $50,000 fine he’ll owe the Alpha Congress if he doesn’t attend, it is truly more practical for him to go.

After all, he’ll need a heat mate either way. Why not use the resources given to him?

Danny is not, however, expecting anything like Stiles.

*****

Stiles just _smells_ right to Danny.

He can smell him from across the room and, despite his reluctance to follow it, he can’t find it in him to resist. When he finds him sitting at a table, suit jacket flung over the back of his chair and tie undone like he’s already given in to the inevitable after only 30 minutes, Danny is confused.

Stiles is so different from anyone Danny has been with in the past. He is too skinny, too lanky, too dorky, too... _Stiles-y_.

And yet Danny is drawn to him, circling him, asking him questions, laughing with him, being _won over_.

This is not what he was expecting.

*****

Six months of actually dating Stiles - something he’d never planned on doing, but is so glad he did - has revealed one relevant thing right now: he is so obviously Danny’s _mate_.

Of course, there are a lot of other things its revealed; for instance, Danny obviously has a thing for moles and geeks and Star Wars debates and and comic cons and and flailing arms and overdone gestures and nervous twitches and giant smiles and... just... _Stiles_. All of which are very important, but not relevant to the moment.

Because the moment right now is that, Danny is finally fully aware that Stiles is not only his heat mate, but his actual _mate_. And his mate is still a bit of a blushing virgin, because Danny is a _ridiculously_ patient man.

But his patience has run its course, because Stiles is spread out on Danny’s bed naked, face red with heat and three of his own fingers buried deep into his ass. His hard cock is bouncing with each thrust of his fingers, leaving a trail of cum along his abdomen and it’s one of the hottest things Danny has ever seen.

He knows his increasing need is fueled by their heats, but he’s also waited for so long. He’s held off these six months, because he knew Stiles was nervous. But now, in the full throes of his heat, Danny can take what he’s wanted, claim what is his.

“ _Danny_ ,” Stiles cries and his voice is hoarse with want. “Please. _Oh god._ Now. Do it now.”

Danny has to keep his wolf in check, has to tamp down his shift, because even though he needs this as much as Stiles, he wants to savor this first time as a man. Later, he’ll let his wolf out to play. But right now...

“Look at you,” Danny says, crawling across the bed and slipping between Stiles stretched legs, pressing him down into the mattress. “So hot, fucking yourself. So beautiful.”

Stiles whimpers, eyes clenched shut and head thrown back, as Danny lets his fingers skim across his heated skin. He skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat and the smell of lust and sex coming from him makes Danny’s wolf pant.

“Tell me how badly you want it, Stiles,” Danny says, his voice low and teetering on demanding. He presses his lips to Stiles’ chest, flicking his tongue across a nipple, making Stiles arch. “Tell me you want me to mount you, fuck you wide open, empty myself into you, _breed_ you.” The last bit comes out on a growl and Danny reigns it in. Not yet. Not yet.

Stiles whines. “Fuck, Danny.” Danny watches as Stiles’ body shudders around his fingers and _fuck_. Danny needs inside him now.

“Tell me, Stiles,” he says and lets his teeth graze over his neck. “Tell me what you need from me.”

“F-fu- _oh god_ fuck me, _breed me_. S-s-so good, Danny. Please!”

Danny lets one more growl slip when he rips Stiles hands from his ass and buries himself in deep, in one long thrust.

It is so much better than he’s expecting.

* * *

**42**  
 **Inspired By:**

_The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers._  
She whips a pistol from her knickers.  
She aims it at the creature's head,  
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead. 

Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf- Roald Dahl

 

There are some weaknesses that Lydia cannot forgive, in herself or others. She loathes helplessness most of all, the hollowed-out terror of hoping somebody will come for you because you can’t save yourself, the inescapable weight of your own inadequacy. 

Everything about Peter makes her want to rip her skin off until there’s nothing left that he’s touched. The acid burn of his gaze cuts to her bones. The way it lingers over her curves makes her nauseous and sometimes just thinking about it alone in the car brings the memories clawing back up her throat and she has to pull over as she dry heaves.

It’s unacceptable. She is sick of her own fear, of her own paranoia. 

She corners Stiles before lacrosse practice wearing a strategically low-cut shirt. The boy is so distracted by trying not to look that he can’t even come up with a decent denial. She barely has to raise an eyebrow before he’s babbling about werewolves and hunters and the death-defying freak of nature that is Peter. She knows her expression doesn’t change but he slows down a bit after that. There’s a bestiary he keeps mentioning, apparently it’s digital. She’ll have to get a copy of that. When he starts repeating himself she gives him a little smile and a pat on the cheek and sends him off to practice. 

Lydia makes a detour on the way home. The Stilinskis apparently leave their backdoor unlocked. The flash drive is easy to find. The little bag of powder labeled “wolf’s bane” is intriguing so she takes it. She makes a copy of the bestiary and is only home twenty minutes late. 

The bestiary turns out to be less useful than the wolf’s bane. The purple powder is strangely familiar. Maybe it’s the color, a toxic purple, the exact shade of her favorite nail polish. 

\---

Peter finds her again. She knew he would. She had counted on it. The plan is ready. The house is empty and she’s in her bedroom when she turns around to find him perched on her windowsill, leering. He jumps down and slouches across the room toward her. They’re having a conversation but her heart is pounding so loudly that she can’t hear it. 

Peter trails his fingers down her face. She lets him. She doesn’t really remember what Peter did to her before but she’s sure this has happened. He leans forward and they kiss. She needs his clothes to be off but if he suspects anything this is over. She waits. Every touch is like being touched by a corpse.

When they fuck it’s like a penance for her weakness. She’s purging her fear by staring down into its vacant face. She strokes her hands up his arms, carefully frames his jaw, and drags her nails down his throat, all the way to his heart. He groans. She reaches for his back, playing the wanton, scratching blindly. Everywhere she can reach is covered in thin red lines before the wolf’s bane kicks in. He groans again, but this time in pain. The lines are coming in darker, turning black, and dripping a vicious dark stain onto the sheets.

Lydia climbs off him. Peter is arched off the bed, paralyzed, gasping. Lydia finds her purse, pulls out the pistol she borrowed from Allison’s house. Hopefully Allison’s dad won’t notice one missing bullet. The wolf’s bane is entering Peter’s bloodstream. She can see the black streaks under his skin and he’s making weak little noises.

His eyes follow her when she stands over him. She likes the way her finger looks on the trigger, purple nail polish just barely lined in blood. She expected it to be hard to pull the trigger.

It isn’t.

* * *

 **43**  
 **Inspired By:** The wolf thought to himself, what a tender young creature. What a nice plump mouthful...”  
\- The Brothers Grimm LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

AU - Victorian London, 1890

Lydia awoke with a start but didn't move far as she quickly found her hands tied about her head and a blindfold covering her eyes. "What the hell?" she said, her head twisting back and forth, pulling to trying and get free.

"Hush now, you can struggle all you want but I assure you the ties will hold." Derek smirked as he watched her, and liked that she kept struggling. He knew when he seen her those months ago that he had to have her, that she was the one. The other part of him, the wolf that had such an appetite had sensed something in her and wanted him to claim her then and there, but Derek knew he had to wait for the right time. His own heart thumped as he touched her, eyes glowing red as clawed fingers easily cut through the delicate material. "You're much too beautiful to be all covered up."

The unsaid words that were inferred in what he said, made her shiver that much more. She could feel his hands on her, pulling at her clothing, pushing it around and off. The buttons of her skirt, the ties of her bustle and petticoats. All of it, slid down her legs and presumably resting on the floor, and then he set to work on her corset, popping the busque all the way down until it too fell away and he eased it out from under her and she heard it drop on a table beside the bed. Lydia was blushing as she lay tied up on a bed in now something but her underpinnings. Derek moved to her legs and started to ease her stockings down but he was even more evil this time, kissing each section of skin he exposed and Lydia bit her bottom lip but couldn't mute the soft moan that escaped her beautiful full lips.

"Please don't. Stop before there's no turning back," she begged him, trying to move away from his fucking lips and seductive hands.

But he didn't because there was already no turning back. He would just show her. His wolf wanted it's mate but Derek also wanted Lydia. She was beautiful to be sure but she was different from other girls, most of whom made him roll his eyes on more than one occasion. Pulling at the buttons and ties of her chemise, it was soon undone and her breasts were bared to him. He dipped his head over, licking across a nipple and then suckling it for a moment.

As as if he knew, or perhaps he did, his an errant hand moved down her stomach and tugged at her pantaloons. The thin material gave easily and his hand slipped between her legs. Derek smiled for she was wet for him already and fingers found her clit and he slowly teased her. He would not claim her completely this night but he would show her a taste of what could be. "God you are beautiful."

She continued to moan and pull at the ties keeping her in place. This was wrong, so wrong, but why was she not fighting it, telling him no, screaming and crying out? That's what she should do, that's what any sane proper woman would do, so what was it? The unknown, the illicit secret of it, just being naughty?

Derek continued kissing one breast and then the other, lathing attention to them both as his fingers pushed her to the edge. Rubbing and pressing against the nub faster and faster, he could hear as much as see her heartbeat increasing and could smell her arousal filling the room. He didn't care who else heard her, his lady.

"S-stop... oh god... too much... I can't," she gasped and twisted her head. thee was the faintest of white lights behind her eyelids and she cried out as her body tensed and she crumbled because of her, falling over the edge in the rush of her orgasm.

Derek knew when it started happening and when she cried out, he tipped his head back, his features changing and he howled. His wolf was satisfied, his mate was claimed.

After a few moments she slumped to the bed and smiled. "Derek?"

"Hmmm?" came the reply as he looked at her.

Lydia pulled at her wrists again. "Next time, don't tie these so tight."

Derek grinned and reached up, pulling the blindfold off of her and leaned down to kiss her. "As you wish, Mrs. Hale."

* * *

**44**  
 **Inspired By:**

> He holds him from desire, all but stops his breathing lest  
>  Primordial Motherhood forsake his limbs, the child no longer rest,  
>  Drinking joy as it were milk upon his breast.
> 
> Through light-obliterating garden foliage what magic drum?  
>  Down limb and breast or down that glimmering belly move his smooth and sinewy tongue  
>  What from the forest came? What beast has licked its young?
> 
> \- W.B. Yeats, from “Supernatural Songs”  
> 

The forest was dark and oppressive, save for the bright circle of tree and underbrush illuminated by Stiles’s flashlight.

“Derek?” 

Stiles had seen Derek’s iron control melt in the wake of the poison tipping the hunter’s arrow, leaving him wild-eyed and snarling. Derek’s panicked eyes had met Stiles’s for a bare second before he’d fled into the woods.

Fuck that.

The hunters wanted Derek out of control, wanted him to hurt somebody. Wanted an excuse to take him down. No way would Stiles let that happen. Even though he didn’t know how to find Derek. Or what he’d do when he found him.

Gripping his flashlight like a weapon, Stiles ventured deeper into the woods, scanning the dense trees for red eyes, a flash of bare skin, any hint of Derek’s presence. But the flashlight fell only over tangled branch and root.

“Derek?” he called again.

“Stiles.”

The growl lifted the hair on the back of his neck, so low and animalistic that it grated against his very bones. His heartbeat drummed inside his chest. Stiles’s fingers slackened around the flashlight, and it tumbled into the underbrush. It landed at an angle, shining into Stiles’s eyes. He blinked, bringing his arm up to shield his face. At the same moment, something plowed into him from the side, and he fell to the mossy forest floor, gasping for breath. Derek leaned over him, all red eyes and snarl.

“Dude,” Stiles gasped. “Are you okay?”

Derek didn’t look okay. He was still (mostly) in Beta form, but the sideburns bristling down his cheeks were thicker than Stiles had ever seen them, and the glow of his red eyes was unnerving. He bent low to sniff at Stiles’s neck, and stubble brushed against the sensitive skin of Stiles’s throat. The shock of it made Stiles jump, but Derek’s hand landed in the center of his chest, pinning him still. Derek’s mouth fell open against Stiles’s throat, fangs brushing sensitive skin.

Stiles froze. “Derek?” 

A long tongue flicked out, tasting Stiles’s neck. 

“Hey!’ Stiles protested. “I’m not for snacking! I’m – oh fuck!” The bright flash of claws was all the warning Stiles got before Derek ripped a line down the center f his t-shirt, peeling it away. A frigid blast of night air hit his skin before Derek dragged his face down Stiles’s chest, nuzzling at the skin of his belly. Stiles groaned despite himself.

“Dude!’ he protested weakly

Derek made a low sound in his throat, nuzzling Stiles’s crotch before his mouth closed over his tented jeans. Stiles could feel the heat of it even through the wet denim. More than anything, he wanted to buck up into the hot pressure of Derek’s mouth, to unfasten his zipper and _feel_ the wet heat surrounding him. But . . .

“No,” Stiles gritted out, clenching his fingers in Derek’s hair, like he had a chance in hell of dragging him away. “You don’t want this. “

Derek shook his head, resting his head against Stiles’s bare stomach. “Want,” he countered. “Always want. Stiles . . .” His fingers scrabbled against the waistband of Stiles’s pants, claws barely grazing the skin there. He tugged at Stiles’s waistband, brow furrowing in a way that might have been adorable, if it weren’t for the fangs, the red eyes, the sideburns.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispered. He reached for the fly of his jeans, and no sooner had them open, then Derek’s mouth closed over Stiles’s erection 

In retrospect, Stiles probably should have been embarrassed that he came so quickly, but it was hard to give a fuck, when Derek was lapping up his come like it was ambrosia, nuzzling into the curve of Stiles’s hip and kissing over the sensitive skin of his balls until he reached the hidden, secret place behind them. Stiles could only sob out in joy as Derek’s tongue breached him, heartbeat drumming madly in his chest. 

The world collapsed to the twigs digging into his knees, to Derek’s tongue, slicking the way inside him, to Derek’s claws on his hips, dragging him closer, to the hot press of Derek’s stomach against his back. When Derek finally mounted him, claiming Stiles with the long, hard length of his cock, Stiles could only groan and buck up into it.

* * *  
The hunters glared when they stumbled upon them the next morning, where they’d curled into the bed of clover. Stiles smiled sleepily, nuzzling into Dereks’ chest.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I owe you one.”

* * *

 **45**  
 **Inspired By:**  
There's a she wolf in your closet  
Open up and set her free  
There's a she wolf in your closet  
Let it out so it can breathe  
\- Shakira SHE WOLF

 

Stiles looks out the window and doesn’t see anything in the darkness, but there’s a hint of an extra shadow just outside his window. He’s pretty sure that Derek’s creeping on him again. His room is lit and the blinds are open, meaning that Derek should be able to see everything clear as day. 

Stiles strips down until he’s naked and wanders over to his closet. He opens the drawer to his panties, fingers running over the silky fabric. He owns an assortment of colors, but tonight, he’s feeling sexy so he chooses the black pair. Stiles makes a show of unfolding the panties to display their shape for Derek before slipping his legs through the openings. He turns towards window to make a show of tucking himself inside the panties and admiring how the cut enhances his ass. 

The garter belt is next and he always feels a bit silly as the suspenders dangle in the air. He pulls out a pair of thigh highs and heads over to his bed. He pulls the stocking over his legs like those pin-up girls, clicking them in place, and spreading his legs a little to show off his bulge. Just because he dresses in women’s clothing doesn’t mean he wants to be a girl. 

Stiles slinks back to his closet with an extra sway in his hips. He unhooks his red babydoll nightie and slips it over his head. There’s a cascade of ruffles and frills along the front to accentuate his flat chest while the rest of the piece flows away from his body. He does a turn just to see the babydoll fan out like a fancy gown. The nightie barely reaches his crotch so he’s sure that Derek got a great glimpse of his panties. 

Then he unhooks the piece that he likes to call his “pelt”. It’s a faux fur cape that’s way too warm for this weather, but adds a bit of werewolf fun to his ensemble. Stiles rubs his cheek against the soft fur and wonders what it would be like to nuzzle Derek in his Alpha form. 

He slips into his stripper shoes and wobbles for a bit as he adjusts to the change in his center of gravity. It pushes out his chest and makes his legs look a mile long. They’re outrageous. This whole outfit is a bit outrageous, but it’s fun. The feel of semi-opaque fabric against his skin, he wonders if Derek sees the same thing as he does. Looking in the mirror, Stiles takes in his flushed cheeks, the cooler air is making his nipples perk up, and the silk against his dick is making him half hard. 

There is a distinct crack and thump outside and Stiles marches towards his window as fast as his heels would allow him. He looks down and sees Derek crouched on the ground wolfed out in his beta form and the tree branch he fell from laying beside him. 

“Got a little excited there, buddy?” yells Stiles as he leans out of his window.

Derek grunts something that Stiles can’t make out.

“The correct response is, ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.’”

In a flash, Derek leaps onto the windowsill. 

“Why, hello there, handsome. Are you here to rescue me from the wicked witch?”

“Not enough hair to be Rapunzel.”

Stiles laughs and pulls Derek in for a kiss, “Working on it buddy, just you wait.”

* * *

 **46**  
 **Inspired By:**  
 _The wolves all cry to fill the night with hollering_  
When your eyes are red and emptiness is all you know  
‘Cause I’m bleeding out, so if the last thing that I do is to bring you down  
I’ll bleed out for you  
So I bare my skin and I count my sins and I close my eyes and I take it in  
And I’m bleeding out, I’m bleeding out for you  
from Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons  
([song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hl-fALgJyaM) / [lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/imaginedragons/bleedingout.html))

 

"What," Derek gasps, thumb leaving a sticky trail of red along your face. " _Why?_ "

Your feel tears sting, washing away the blood as you weep. Your hands are trembling, but you feel numb with grief and guilt.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips. You unsheathe the wolfsbane-drenched knife embedded deep in his heart, tug it out with all your might, and--

" _Fuck_ ," he groans as you bury the blade inside of yourself, and there are also tears smeared on his face. You've never seen him cry, not once; not even when you stood over Laura's grave, and he touched the engraved letters of her name. 

You try to smile at him as you feel your heart breaking - both metaphorically and literally. 

"I love you," you say, your blood seeping between your hands, soaking your clothes and bleeding as one with his. " _I love you._ "

*

"I want you to be mine," he growls frantically into your neck, where he's left the darkest bruises that will take months to heal.

"I'm yours," you mutter, fervent as you wind his fingers into his hair, gripping tighter with each rise and fall of your body. "Fuck, Derek, I'm _yours_."

"I know," he murmurs, inhaling the mix of him and you, the sound of sex loud in both of your ears, "but I want to _make_ you mine. I want to _take_ you."

You still, sunk down on his cock rammed deep inside you, to stare at him. "Do you mean..."

He swipes a finger under your eyelashes. " _Yes._ "

You blink, fingernails biting crescent moons in his shoulders. "Do you love me?" you ask quietly, like you don't know the answer; like you haven't said it countless times to each other by now.

"You're my mate," he simply says, his hands like hot brands on your hips, grounding you.

"Oh," you breathe, and you bend so your foreheads touch. "Okay then."

When you come with his knot stretching you wide and filling you full, tears slide down your face, and you mumble _I love you_ like a mantra over his heart.

*

"You took your father's name, but you are an Argent," Uncle Chris tells you, bending down to look you in the eye. "Now you must avenge him."

You can hear Allison crying in the hallway. Scott's trying to soothe her turmoil, but you know better than anyone the irreparable touch of loss. 

"Do it for your aunt. For Allison. For your _dad_ ," Uncle Chris says, and you nod.

"Whatever it takes," you agree.

*

You place your hand over Derek's, and you look up into his eyes. Eyes that are hazel, not a single fleck of red in them. Not a werewolf, but a man.

"I love you," you say for the first time, between the beats of your heart under your joined palms.

*

Derek's eyes glow red one last time, before they fade to black. Outside, the wolves lift their faces to the moon to howl, and it's with the ring of their mournful call in your ears that you slump over his body and, finally, close your eyes.

* * *

 **47**  
 **Inspired By:** _He's a wolf in diguise / but I can't stop staring in those evil eyes_ ; **Monster** by Lady GaGa

Isaac’s heard all about werewolves. In a small town like Beacon Hills, it’s all anyone ever wants to talk about. No one likes the local pack, though, even though they’ve never done anything to earn the town’s ire.

The grocery lady calls them _unnatural_ , the mechanic says _dangerous_. Isaac’s own father orders, repeatedly, _stay away from them_. 

He tells Isaac that it’s for his own safety but Isaac never believes him. It’s hard to believe that anyone who locks him up in a freezer in the basement has his best interests at heart.

His father is dead now, thankfully.

He dies a week after they meet Derek Hale for the first time at a local restaurant. Isaac was so busy staring at Alpha Hale that he accidentally bumped into one of his companions. Flushed with embarrassment, he tries to help the boy retrieve his fallen belongings when his father appears and drags him away with a too-tight grip.

Isaac doesn’t know what makes him look back but he does and just in time to see Derek’s eyes flash ruby red. 

Some people say the red is the manifestation of their evil. Others claim that Devil’s horns appear on an Alpha when his eyes flash or the air grows cold or they experience a general fear for their lives.

None of these things are true for Isaac. When he sees that flash of red, he feels inexplicably safe for a moment; like he’s back in his mother’s arms and no one can hurt him. It’s gone as quickly as it came, his father’s furious lecture driving it away, but it gives Isaac hope.

After the funeral, Isaac receives a formal invitation to visit the Hale House. It’s supposed to be a private affair but gossip spreads fast in a small town. Everyone cautions him not to go. He accepts, anyways.

He meets Derek Hale for the second time in a small library on the ground floor of the pack home. “The den,” a blonde girl – Erica – says as she escorts him to Derek. It’s meant to be a warning and he takes it to heart.

When they’re alone, Isaac asks, “did you kill him?”

Derek’s laugh is low. “That would be against the Code,” he says, lips quirking in amusement.

It’s as close to an admission as Isaac will ever get and he knows it. The idea of it warms him from the inside out. Other people noticed before, of course – how could they not, all the years they’ve lived in that gossiping small town? – but no one ever tried to do anything about it.

All the humans who cautioned him not to come and it’s the werewolf – the _monster_ – that saves him. He steps closer; too close but Derek doesn’t back away.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “for not breaking the Code.”

He kisses Derek.

Part of him wants to say it’s solely out of gratitude but he knows that isn’t true. That flash of safety he felt in the restaurant, that feeling of home he experienced when he looked at Derek, he wants that again. He never wants to stop feeling it again.

It wasn't really the plan but they end up fucking right there in the library. It’s hard and fast and half their clothes are still on, they’re in such a rush, but it’s perfect. Derek knots him and it’s too much, it hurts, but it’s a different kind of hurt; a good hurt.

Isaac slumps against him, whining at the shift of the cock inside him. Derek just rumbles, obviously pleased.

“You’re going to move in here, with us,” Derek says after a few minutes. 

Isaac lifts his head again and finds Derek’s eyes burning red again. That feeling of safety comes back forcefully; somehow, he _knows_ Derek will take care of him. Derek will always take care of him.

As if Derek can read his mind, he smiles. “You’re Pack now, if you want.”

Isaac shivers and nods.

"I want."

* * *

 **48**  
 **Inspired By:** About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was part of him — and I didn't know how potent that part might be — that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. ~Twilight

“The notes about the Omega are on my desk in the spiral notebook,” Stiles called from the kitchen where he and Scott were getting snacks.

The desk was a mess and Derek huffed as he sifted through the clutter until he found the notebook. He opened it to see what Stiles had found. 

> About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Derek was a werewolf. Second, there was a part of him--and I didn’t know how potent that part might be--that longed to slam my forehead into a steering wheel. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.¹

“ _What_.” Derek knew he should put the notebook down and continue looking, but it was too good to pass up. He shrugged, knowing Stiles would do the same were their positions reversed, then flipped to another page of the worn notebook. 

> Derek stood tall, black leather jacket taut over his bulging muscles as he folded his arms across his chest. His familiar aura of anger expertly masked the concern I knew lay just below the surface. “I told you to stay out of it, Stiles,” he growled. 
> 
> The more he glowered, the more I wanted to peel back his skin and expose the nerve underneath. He was like a lost moon--his planet destroyed in a cataclysmic fire--that continued, nevertheless, to circle in a tight little orbit around the empty space left behind, ignoring the laws of gravity.²
> 
> “You’re not angry, you’re afraid! You’re not a lone wolf anymore, Derek! Stop fighting m--us when we’re trying to help.”
> 
> Anger alit his eyes, bright and red, and he shoved me into the wall. He looked wild and animalistic, but nothing about him frightened me--not anymore. I placed my palms over his chest and pushed; not to push him away, but to feel the pulse of his heart under my hands.
> 
> "Don't be afraid," I muttered. "We’ve got each other." I was abruptly overwhelmed by the truth of my own words. This moment was so perfect, so _us_ , there was no way to doubt it.³

“Ummm.” Derek ran a hand over his face, embarrassment warring with morbid curiosity. He flipped to a page towards the back. 

> His body was warm marble, hard everywhere and sculpted to perfection. I had never seen anyone so beautiful in my entire life.

“Oh, God.” Derek squeezed his eyes shut, certain he had imagined the next bit of text.

God help him, he hadn’t.

> When his palm brushed my dick, I repeated every periodic element I knew to keep myself from coming. I anchored myself to him and pushed my fingers through his silken hair as I leaned in to kiss him. 
> 
> Derek pushed his knee between my thighs and used his hips to thrust me into the wall. His nostrils flared and red bled into his irises. The cacophony of noise that was ever-present in my brain was finally silent and the only sound I could hear was the shotgun of my heart.
> 
> “Fuck me,” I murmured, my lips pressed against the jugular of his neck. He groaned brokenly and nodded. I loved his submission, that he could trust me with this, with him. I needed it like he needed mine. 

Derek first snorted, then broke down laughing until his vision was blurry. He wiped his eyes and skimmed the rest of the page.

> His erection was a hot brand against my own and the more I arched up into him, the more my stomach coiled with a need for release.
> 
> Derek thrust down, indulgent, and nipped at my ears. His hot breath tickled my neck as he whispered, “I’m going to strip you bare.”

“ _Red_ spiral notebook!” Stiles yelled as he ran up the stairs, practically spilling onto the floor as he burst into the room. Derek looked from the purple-and-distinctly-not-red notebook to Stiles, then back to the notebook.

“Oh. _Shit_.” Stiles snatched the notebook and stuffed it under his t-shirt. “Boundaries! My dream journal is off limits!”

“Dream journal. That's what we're going with?” Stiles’ eyes narrowed and Derek felt a smirk tug at his lips. “Do you dream about my ‘warm, marble perfection’ often?”

Stiles flushed redder than Derek had ever seen him flush before. Finally, Derek took pity on him and leaned forward to whisper hot breath into Stiles’s ear. “After Scott leaves, I’m going to strip you bare.”

Stiles gasped, his eyes wide and mouth agape. “Scott! Buddy! Time for you to go home. Unless you want to --” 

“Nope!” The front door slammed shut. 

Derek stripped him bare.


	8. Group D: No Warnings and Pairing

**49**  
 **Inspired By:** “Wolf! Right here and now!” ― Peter Straub, The Talisman

**50**  
 **Inspired By:** Little Red Riding Hood by The Brothers Grimm

**Little Red Stiles**

“Come get me, Big Bad,” Stiles purred then winked. “Little Red’s got something for ya.”

The werewolf’s grin was predatory. He’d take the kid apart with his mouth first and then...Derek was going to fuck that sexy smug look right off Stiles’ face. 

* * *

**51**  
 **Inspired By:** "A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. He had it all backwards. Arya, the lone wolf, still lived, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned." [Arya Stark, A song of Ice and Fire](http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Eddard_Stark)

* * *

**52**  
 **Inspired By** :  
 _“And the wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.”_  
― Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are

* * *

**53**  
Inspired By: "If we love and allow ourselves to be loved...well, a person who loves is the most precious thing in the world, worth all the fortunes that ever were. That’s what you’ve taught me, fur face, and because of you I’ll never be the same." Watchers, novel by Dean Koontz

* * *

**54**  
 **Inspired By:**  
Help me believe it's not the real me  
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become  
\- Three Days Grace, "Animal I Have Become"

* * *

**55**  
 **Inspired By:** _"The wolf thought to himself, what a tender young creature. What a nice, plump mouthful..."_ The Brothers Grimm, Little Red Riding Hood


End file.
